


Booky's Tumblr Fic

by Bookkbaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:06:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 43,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/pseuds/Bookkbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what it says on the tin. A collection of my shortfics from Tumblr! All Destiel fics of varying flavors; angst, fluff, some explicit, some not. Some with side characters~</p><p>All shortfics requiring warnings will have warnings at the top!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I figure if I ever do delete my blog, I should keep a record of all the stuff I wrote, in case anyone wants to read them after my blog is gone.
> 
> To start us off: fluff

The first night had been easy; remarkably so, for something so monumental, so life-changing Dean sometimes thought of it as the First Night, capital letters and all. No one thing had tumbled them into bed together, but a combination of everything that had been brewing from the words “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition”.

The hard part had come after, once they’d collapsed in an exhausted, sticky, and definitely sated heap. Once Cas had cleaned them with some of his angel mojo and the afterglow had begun to wear off, Dean was in not exactly uncharted but definitely unfamiliar territory.

With anyone else, this would be the part where he thanked them for a nice time, found his jeans, and left. That’s not to say he never spent the night with one of his conquests, but he only stayed when he was either too tired or too well-fucked to leave. And sure, maybe he’d stayed with Cassie and with Lisa, but they hadn’t just been notches in his belt.

Cas wasn’t just a notch either. Dean was simultaneously terrified of what that meant and terrified that Cas would fly off, not that he’d admit either fear to anyone.

Dean knew better than to trust promises and words of devotion whispered into the air between two bodies, regardless of the speaker.

He laid his head on Castiel’s chest and wrapped his arms around the angel. Cas’s arm came up automatically to curl around Dean, pulling him in even closer. Dean carefully didn’t wonder if this made him the chick. This was the same way Lisa had always held onto him afterwards. So had Cassie. Maybe they had been worried he’d vanish too.

Dean shut his eyes and tightened his grip, throwing one leg over Castiel’s as though his weight would be enough to keep Cas in place. He shifted a little, making himself as comfortable as he could, and silently hoped that Cas would still be there in the morning. He did not dare to pray for it.

Cas’s fingertips lightly traced over his shoulder and down his back, soothing and tender. Unwillingly, Dean found himself relaxing, drowsiness taking over. He clung to consciousness, not wanting to wake to a cold, empty bed but unable to bring himself to ask.

Despite his silent war, he was only half-awake when Cas pressed a kiss to the top of his head in a gesture of pure affection Dean hadn’t realized that Cas knew.

"I’m not leaving, Dean," Cas whispered, voice so soft Dean almost couldn’t hear it. "I’ll be here when you wake, and when you sleep, for as long as you want me here."

"Shut up, I’m trying to sleep," Dean protested half-heartedly, words slightly slurred. He hesitated a moment, but only a moment, then turned his head and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s sternum in silent thanks.

Cas squeezed Dean’s shoulder in acknowledgement.

No more words were spoken that night, but then again, neither Dean nor Castiel needed them.


	2. Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depressing ficlet, set in S7. Time travel.

It was over. Finally and completely over.

The last of the Leviathans was dead and while there would always be evil things able and willing to prey on the unsuspecting, they could maybe start taking it easy. Dean was already pushing thirty-seven but felt so much older than that. Hunters rarely made it into their mid-thirties and those that did usually didn’t make it to forty.

 

"Is it over?" Sam asked, sounding somewhere between dumbfounded and uncertain. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, it’s done," he said. He wiped at some of the sticky black goo that had gotten on his neck, grimacing at the feel of it on his skin, and turned to the third member of their little group. "Nice work, Cas."

Cas smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Are you and Sam going to retire, then?" he asked. Dean nodded slowly and rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the floor of the warehouse.

"That was the plan, yeah." His voice caught in his throat and he swallowed heavily, nerves churning his stomach. He never felt like this when going up against any of the baddies they’d fought so far, so why now? "Cas, will you-"

The word ‘stay’ was stopped by Castiel’s mouth. Dean froze, too stunned to react for a few, precious seconds, and then Cas was pulling away with that same sad smile on his face.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said softly. He lifted his hand, all fingers save the index and middle bent down.

"Cas, no, wait-"

The fingers touched his forehead. He heard Sam yell his name, then yelp as Cas pulled him into the air and then into this weird place that Dean could only describe as being between time and space.

Dean didn’t know where they were going, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to shout at Cas, to demand answers, but they were moving too fast and his voice was whisked away.

After an eternity, they landed, and everything went dark.

NOVEMBER 2, 1983

Mary Winchester turned, frowning. She could have sworn she’d just heard something, and it hadn’t sounded like the house settling.

Well, she wasn’t a cop from a long line of cops for nothing. She grabbed her service revolver and slid out of her chair, creeping quietly towards the stairs and moving silently up to the second floor. The only noises she heard were John’s soft snores emanating from their bedroom and the sound of one of her sons crying.

She walked down the hall as quickly as she could while still keeping quiet, flicking off the safety as she approached the nursery. The door was just as she had left it; slightly ajar, the gap wide enough for her to see into without alerting anyone inside that she was there. She peered through the gap, scanning the room quickly for any intruder.

Nothing. There was no one there but Sammy, crying and fussing though he’d been sleeping like an angel not ten minutes ago.

May sighed and re-did the safety before sliding it back into the holster she’d sewn into her robe. Her dad may have been a paranoid bastard, but from him Mary had learned to always keep her gun handy. Just in case.

She pushed open the door and walked into Sammy’s room, already making crooning noises towards the crib.

"Shh, Sammy, it’s all right… Mommy’s here…" she said, scooping him into her arms.

DEAN’S ROOM

Dean looked at the man sitting at the end of his bed, brow furrowed with confusion.

"Do I know you, mister?" he asked. He could see right through the man, see the shelf with his toys and his closet door through his body, but he wasn’t scared. And not just because being scared was for babies like Sammy, but because he felt utterly safe. It was almost like being with Mom or Dad; nothing bad could happen to him.

The man didn’t speak for a moment, his blue eyes heavy with something Dean didn’t recognize, not yet.

"No, you don’t," the man said. He smiled, but his eyes were still heavy and now they shone a bit, like Mom’s did after a really hard day at work. "I wanted to say goodbye. This is the last- no, the only time I’ll be able to do this."

"Why ‘goodbye’ if we don’t know each other?" Dean asked.

"Because I know you, Dean Winchester," the man said. "And even if this is the last time I’ll be able to talk to you… I want you to know that I will always be watching over you, until I am no longer able."

Dean wanted to ask what he meant by that but, apparently sensing the question, the man continued.

"This world was not made for me or my kind. There are no an- none of us," he said. "But there are also no ghosts, no ghouls, no vampires… no demons. You’ll be safe here." The man paused, then moved closer. He placed a hand on the side of Dean’s head and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, like a blessing. "Be happy, Dean."

The man vanished and Dean woke with tears pouring down his cheeks and a deep, aching sense of loss he wouldn’t recognize for years.


	3. Doomsday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Dr. Who episode of the same name. Another angsty Destiel ficlet set in S7

They’d finally caught wind of a vampire that apparently knew a way out of Purgatory almost a year after killing Dick. It had taken them another two months to finally locate him. Though Dean had griped almost constantly about the very realy possibility that said vampire didn’t exist and there was no one still in this hellish place that knew an escape route, the monster and the way out were real.

Apparently, he’d just been missing one of the ingredients for the spell. Human blood was a very, very valuable commodity in Purgatory, since so few humans found their way in. (It had apparently happened before, when people accidentally opened doorways or stood too close to a wormhole. None of those those poor suckers had survived more than a week, as none had had an angel watching their six.)

Unfortunately, the spell could only get a maximum of two people out, and one had to be the caster. It was a one-way trip, too, less like a door between Purgatory and Earth and more like a collapsing tunnel. Dean had been torn, part of him wanting to call it off until the spell could be modified for three and part of him desperately missing Sam.

Cas had stepped up and made the choice for him.

The rest of the ritual’s ingredients were easy enough to gather; Benny hadn’t kept them on hand, since setting down roots in Purgatory was impossible unless you were incredibly powerful. For the majority of monsters, speed was the secret to survival, and Benny simply couldn’t carry everything and keep ahead of the creatures that liked the taste of vampire meat.

They’d spent all of yesterday gathering the required items and now it was (finally) time to go.

Benny was chanting softly at the wall behind them, too quiet for even Castiel’s angelic hearing to pick up exact words. Benny had outright refused to teach them the spell, certain that they wouldn’t let him come along if they knew it. Dean would have felt more pissed about that if Benny was wrong, but he had been correct. Dean wouldn’t’ve let him anywhere near an exit if he’d had a choice.

A complex mess of symbols had been painted on the wall with a mix of Dean’s blood, Benny’s blood, various herbs, and some other things Benny had added when Dean and Cas weren’t watching.

"I’ll get you out of here. I promise," Dean said, knowing how unlikely it was and determined to find a way despite the odds. He was a Winchester. Defying odds was what his family did.

Cas smiled softly. The expression still sent chills up Dean’s spine. It was simply too close to how that Cas in the future had looked, the one constantly strung out on drugs and sex. Cas had echoed the expression since the mental hospital, but it never got any easier to see, even now that Dean knew some of the madness, at least, was more of an affectation than anything else.

"Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Dean," Cas replied. His smile faded. "Keep yourself safe. I won’t be able to watch over you after this."

"Yes, you will," Dean insisted stubbornly. The bit about watching over him didn’t even rankle anymore. He knew that Cas knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself. "Soon as I get you out, it’ll be back to you, me, and Sam in the Impala. Just hold on, all right?"

"Of course," Cas said, though he sounded a touch unsure.

"I  _will_  get you out,” Dean vowed again.

Cas smiled.

A breeze picked up suddenly at Dean’s back, tugging gently at his clothes.

"All right, one-way trip back to humanity now open," Benny said. Dean turned to look, just in time to see Benny disappearing into the ink-dark light of the potal.

"Dean."

Dean turned back to Cas. Dean just had time to register how  _close_  the angel was before Cas tilted his head and pressed his lips to Dean’s. The contact lasted only a heartbeat before Cas pulled back and looked him in the eye, all trace of madness gone.

"If this is my last chance to say it, Dean Winchester, I-" Cas shut his eyes and shook his head. "I’m sure you already know."

Dean’s voice was trapped in his throat, thousands of words caught behind the block as Cas pushed him backwards into the portal.

Cas’s last words echoed after him as the tear in space slammed shut.

"Goodbye, Dean."

Dean felt his feet land  _somewhere_ , but the where didn’t matter because he finally had his voice again.

"Cas!" he yelled at the now-smooth wall of concrete he’d just fallen through. He pounded on it, as if he could make the wall open up and spit out Cas by punching it. "Cas… damnit…"

He sank to his knees, knuckles bruised and bloody, and wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth? The last time he’d hurt his hand this badly, it had been because he’d tried punching Cas in the jaw. Cas had healed him immediately after, but now his entire hand throbbed with pain.

"I’ll get you out, I swear," he said, voice choked. He closed his eyes.

If he concentrated, he could still feel Castiel’s lips on his.


	4. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty Destiel fic again (they get happier from here on out, I swear.) Written back around S7
> 
> Warnings for memory loss, amnesia

It’s almost instinctive.

Dean and Sam had been looking desperately for a way to get Cas out of Purgatory, and then finally (finally!), they found something Sam thought might work. Dean had been antsy and irritable all week, waiting for the moon to get to the right phase for the ritual, and Sam had wisely stayed out of his way.

Dean couldn’t remember most of Purgatory, only scattered flashes. There were odd, blank gaps in his memory, but he chalked it up to trauma and left it at that. What he did remember was enough to let him know that Cas wasn’t safe there.

Now Cas was here, blinking, startled, and Dean couldn’t help it. He was moving forward almost before he knew what he was doing, crowding into Castiel’s space and pulling him into an tight hug.

He felt Castiel’s arms wrap around him automatically, like this was normal, and he felt a sudden pang of jealousy for the sixth months Cas had spent as Emmanuel. Neither Dean nor Sam were particularly touchy-feely people and Dean doubted that Meg had been in the practice of giving hugs to comatose angels.

Dean let go and moved back. The next move happened as naturally as the first; he leaned forward, heart pounding, and kissed Castiel. Sam may have made a startled noise from his position at the altar, but Dean wasn’t thinking of his brother just then.

He had a moment to panic and think ‘what the hell am I doing?!’ before Cas was responding eagerly, mouth opening up beneath Dean’s and tongue sliding out to beg entrance.

Dean shoved away and stared wide-eyed at Cas. Cas looked confused for a moment, then Dean caught a hint of sorrow before the angel’s expression clouded over and became an unreadable mask.

"I don’t know why I did that," Dean blurted out, gaze darting from Cas to Sam and back again. Sam looked just as startled as he was, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

Dean had hidden his feelings for Castiel in a box and buried it deep, deep in his heart. The box was stronger than steel, made from his father’s disapproval when a much younger Dean had tentatively hinted that maybe he was an equal-opportunity kind of guy when it came to appreciation of the human body. Dean had placed layers and layers of guilt, self-delusion, and a bit of self-loathing over the top, enough so that he could pretend the box and its contents didn’t exist at all.

He was rarely successful.

"Can we all just forget that happened? Please," Dean said, eyes boring imploringly into Castiel’s. The angel had to know what Dean was actually asking.

From the slump of Cas’s shoulders, he did.

Dean sighed in relief as Cas lifted two fingers and touched them gently to his forehead.

He blinked and shook his head, then stared intently at the spot Cas was supposed to arrive. Assuming the ritual worked.

He scowled and rubbed at his forehead. He had the strangest headache, but the irritation was forgotten when, seconds later, he heard a quiet flapping of wings and Cas was suddenly there.

"Cas!" he said, successfully reining in the impulse to hug the angel. His chest burst with pride and triumph. "Welcome back, buddy!"

Cas stood there, a soft, sad smile on his face.

"Hello, Dean."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that night, Cas sat at the edge of Dean’s bed, staring at the sleeping human.

Dean’s face was slack and his lips were gently parted. His careworn face was for once free from worry and Cas ran careful fingertips over his cheek.

He’d caressed Dean like this before, but back then, it had been a welcome touch.

Memories played back in his head; memories of hundreds of first kisses, of first times and first touches, recollections that belonged to him alone.

Perhaps one day, Dean would once again share them.


	5. Somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, fluff

Dean drifted back to wakefulness wrapped around Castiel’s warmth. He allowed himself to enjoy the slow slide, burying his face in Cas’s neck and breathing deeply. The former angel smelled like cheap soap, sweat, and sex.

Dean smiled and lazily opened his eyes. Cas was still asleep in Dean’s arms, his breathing even and deep, his body completely relaxed. Dean had really worn him out last night. He allowed himself a hint of pride at the thought, though it was muffled by the morning and the warm contentment waking up next to Cas always brought.

"Hey," he murmured against Cas’s skin, skimming his fingertips down the former angel’s side. Dean was semi-hard, but the arousal wasn’t urgent or demanding, not like it had been last night. He rocked against his sleeping partner, groaning softly as he found friction.

Cas stirred but did not wake.

Dean mouthed at the skin of his neck, not quite a nip and too wet to be a kiss. Cas moved, unconsciously tilting his head in a silent request for more of the same and shifting his hips slowly, sleepily, against Dean.

Dean let his hand drop to between Cas’s legs, stroking him softly and coaxing him to full hardness as Cas began to wake.

"Mmm… Dean…?" he said, more asleep than aware, Dean’s name more breath than sound.

"Morning, Cas," Dean whispered back, loathe to break the quiet and the moment. He released Cas’s erection and smoothed his hand lightly over one jutting hipbone and down a muscular thigh. He gently slid his hand to the back of Cas’s knee and coaxed the leg to bend. Cas allowed Dean to manipulate his body like putty, movements almost dreamlike as he obeyed. Dean doubted he was even fully conscious.

Dean brought his hand back up to Cas’s entrance, lightly teasing the rim and drawing a low, pleased moan from Cas. Cas was still loose and wet from the night before and Dean had to bite back a groan as he slipped a finger into that slick heat with no resistance. He’d taken his time last night, carefully stretching and preparing Cas until the former angel would be able to accept Dean with no pain. It had taken time and every ounce of Dean’s willpower, but it had been completely worth it to see Cas come apart with pleasure.

He slid another finger in, smooth as sin, and Cas made a small noise, rocking into the touch.

Dean kissed the skin just under his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against his lips.

"Can I?" he asked. Castiel’s eyes cracked open, glazed by sleep and bliss. Cas turned his head and tried to capture Dean’s lips in an uncoordinated kiss, murmuring ‘please’.

Dean’s third finger didn’t slide in quite as smoothly as the first two had and he spent some time with just his fingers buried inside Castiel, stroking him slowly from the inside and spreading the still-slick lube. Dean may have been a bit overgenerous with it last night and it had made a mess of the sheets, but he didn’t mind the mess if it brought him more mornings like this.

Cas was still so relaxed, still only half-awake, and his trust in Dean was absolute. It wasn’t long before Dean was satisfied that Cas was ready; he pulled his fingers back, smiling at Cas’s soft, disappointed sigh, and spat into his palm. A little moisture would help ease the way a bit and he didn’t want to get up and break the spell.

He took himself in hand and spread the saliva up and down the shaft with lazy but firm strokes. Cas shivered with equal parts anticipation and pleasure as Dean lined himself up and pressed in slowly. Cas took him easily, small noises of contentment escaping from his throat as Dean moved deeper and deeper.

Dean peppered kisses all over Castiel’s neck and shoulder, any bit of skin he could reach with his mouth, and ran his hands over Cas’s chest. When his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, he found himself murmuring sleepy nonsense to Cas.

"Gonna make this so good for you, Cas… feels so good, still so ready for me…"

Cas didn’t reply in words, not properly. He still made little, pleased noises, interspersed with soft cries of Dean’s name. Dean started to move his hips in a lazy, slow rhythm, designed to let pleasure build and build and build rather than race to climax and Cas moved with him, enjoying the connection and the slow burn of bliss.

Dean’s pleasure continued to grow slowly, movements never speeding up even as his breathing grew harsher the closer he came to coming. Cas was getting close too; Dean could feel it in the way Cas became more animated, more awake, his breathless cries louder and more frequent.

Castiel’s hands clutched at Dean’s, which had stilled on the former angel’s chest. All of Dean’s attention had been captured by the slow slide and sweet ecstasy of the movement between their bodies. It wasn’t long before they were both coming, Cas first with a low cry and sudden stiffening of his muscles, body spasming around Dean and drawing Dean into orgasm too. The pleasure was less like an explosion and more like a wave, covering them both and drowning them with joy before leaving a tired, pleasant lethargy as it slowly receeded.

After several minutes, too pleasantly tired to move and basking in the afterglow, Dean finally pulled out and rolled onto his back. Cas followed moments later, almost lazy as he followed and ended up half on top of Dean, staring at him with a fond smile.

"Good morning," Dean said, grinning up at Cas. He tilted his chin and Cas kissed him, the meeting of their mouths and tongues as leisurely as their coupling had been.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas replied, settling in at Dean’s side and resting his hand on Dean’s chest. "Happy anniversary."

Pressed this close to Dean, Cas felt the chuckle before he heard it. Dean covered Castiel’s hand with his own, squeezing gently. Dean didn’t reply with words, but when he drew his hand back, he ran his fingers lightly over the old, scrathed silver ring that encircled the former angel’s left ring finger.

The ring had once belonged to Dean, though it hadn’t adorned his finger for a year now. There had been no ceremony and no formal vows exchanged, but Dean and Cas didn’t need such things.

They already had everything they needed.


	6. Hexed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisswap, fem!Cas

This was torture. Pure, horrible torture.

Dean had no clue which god he’d pissed off this week, or how, but he must have done SOMETHING because there was absolutely no other logical explanation. After all, what were the chances of running into a witch capable of hexing an angel?

More to the point, what were the chances of running into a witch specializing in sex-changing spells who had the mojo to take on an angel?

"Dean," Cas said, a faint hint of irritation entering his - her? - tone.

Dean didn’t look up, eyes focused on the machete he was sharpening. The edge was already like a razor, but Dean was determined to get it so sharp he could split a hair dropped on it. He had other things to hone resting on the table next to him, but they could wait.

"What?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Are you angry with me?" Cas demanded.

"Why would I be?" Dean asked, sharpening the machete with a bit more force and definitely more concentration than the task actually warranted.

"I don’t know," Cas replied, more confused than accusatory. "I’m no less capable in this form. Even if I was, the spell isn’t permanent. I’ve told you this, but you’ve been avoiding me ever since I was hexed."

"Have you and Sam been talking again?" Dean asked, practically dripping with scorn. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

He had. But he didn’t have a choice.

Life had been difficult enough when he caught himself wondering what it would be like to kiss Cas; chapped lips, stubble, and all. The thoughts had been casual at first, easily dismissed as curiosity, but then he’d caught himself noticing Castiel’s hands. His Adam’s apple. His voice.

Fuck, that  _voice_.

One thing had led to another and it didn’t take long before Dean was waking up with a hand down his boxers and a sticky mess in the sheets, a bitten-off name on his lips and a lingering impression of blue. The dreams he could have handled; it was when the images started bleeding over into happy-fun-time that Dean knew he had a problem.

Cas was a guy, or at least possessing one. And Dean was a guy, a very, very manly guy. Manly men did not fantasize about fucking other men (or being fucked, though Dean was loathe to admit those particular fantasies existed).

Dean had just started to get really good at repressing his traitorous thoughts when Cas had been cursed. His hormones, already trained to react to women, had also been trained to react to Cas, and the double-blow was too much for Dean’s self-control. He’d woken up hard and aching every morning since, with a problem that no cold shower could get rid of.

And when Dean took care of business, it wasn’t Cas’s shiny new female body he thought about.

Which was a damn shame, because Cas? He made a very, very hot woman, ill-fitting suit nonwithstanding.

Wide, innocent blue eyes in a heart-shaped face, perfectly plush rose-petal lips, delicate hands, a slender waist, perky breasts, and long legs. Cas’s voice was constantly husky, like she was just coming from or going to bed, and Dean didn’t mean for sleep. Her hair was dark and wild, adding to the illusion of imminent or just-passed good times.

Dean had a difficult enough time not staring when he told himself he shouldn’t want Cas. Like this, there were no little voices in the back of his head reminding him that he couldn’t - shouldn’t - want. There was nothing to stop him from accidentally giving himself away, and while in any other situation he might’ve rejoiced at the chance to sleep with a guy guilt-free, this was Cas.

And if Dean went there with Cas, there would be no going back regardless of what body Cas wore. Dean’s dreams weren’t always about sex and his fantasies didn’t always revolve around how best to break Castiel’s ever-present control. Those fantasies somehow felt even more taboo than the few times Dean had wondered what it’d be like to let Cas bend him over.

"Dean?"

Dean jumped as a hand landed softly on his knee, his gaze coming up instinctively. Cas was half-kneeling in front of him, staring intently at his face from way too close. Dean swallowed thickly.

"What?" he asked. Cas frowned and tilted her head.

"This is the first time you’ve looked at me all week," Cas said. Her eyes narrowed in concentration and she leaned in, sliding her hand up Dean’s thigh to keep her balance. "What about this hex bothers you so much?"

Dean barely heard the question over the roaring in his ears. The hand, the position, the fact that this was _Cas—_

Dean heard his control snap with an audible cracking sound. He cupped half of Castiel’s face in one of his hands, leaning forward and down and then his forehead was touching Castiel’s, his breath was mingling with her breath, his lips—

"Say ‘no’, C-" Dean started to say, but then Cas tentatively turned her head even further and slotted their lips together perfectly.

Dean had been right. There was no going back from this.

Stunned, he didn’t respond for those first few, precious seconds, so Castiel crowded in closer, one hand grabbing the front of Dean’s shirt and the other sliding to the back of his head. She pulled him in closer, mouth opening and tongue finding its way in between his parted lips. At the first touch of it to Dean’s own tongue, he got his wits together long enough to respond.

Cas was the first to pull back, faintly flushed and unnameable emotions fighting behind her eyes. Dean could only identify regret and want, the two he was most familiar with, because they swarmed in and out too rapidly for him to decipher.

"I won’t have this form for much longer," Cas said softly, like a warning. "I could search for another, but I won’t look like this and any new vessel I take won’t be uninhabited like this one."

Mind still reeling from the kiss, it took longer than Dean would’ve like to admit to understand what she meant.

"New ve- Oh," Dean said. He looked down, words building in his throat and catching on his tongue.

"Jimmy Novak had female cousins," Cas said. "I could-"

"No," Dean said, closing his eyes and bringing his head back up to press blind kisses to Castiel’s mouth, trying to communicate with action what he couldn’t with words. "No new vessels."

Cas pulled back; Dean could feel the heat of her body slide away.

"This isn’t…" she started, then paused. "What do you want, Dean? Do you want tonight? Tomorrow, too? Until I change back?"

"Cas, can’t we just-" Dean asked, leaning even more forward to kiss her again, but Cas cut him off.

"I deserve to know."

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Cas then, nervous anticipation and terror running alongside desire down his spine. Cas’s expression was dead serious, jaw set firmly.

"I don’t want any of that. Not just that. I want… fuck," Dean looked away. "What do you want?"

Cas didn’t answer for a moment, though Dean could practically feel her expression softening.

"I thought my desires were obvious," she said quietly. "I’ve only ever wanted you."

Dean jerked his gaze back to her. She was staring at him, completely unselfconscious, though no less determined than before.

"If all you want is sex with this body, then I’ll give it to you. But I want to know," Cas said firmly. Dean’s mouth went dry and he swallowed uncomfortably.

"That’s not it," he managed to say. "I don’t want to fuck you. I mean, I do, but… I want to have sex with  _you_ , Cas.”

It was the most honest he’d ever been, perhaps since he was four, but even now he couldn’t just say it flat-out. He waited, hoping Cas would be able to pick up what he couldn’t say, and judging from the way her eyes widened just the tiniest bit, she did.

"Oh," she said. "Why didn’t you say anything before?"

"I couldn’t," Dean said. Part of him was whispering that he shouldn’t, that this was wrong and strange and there was no way that Cas would stay when all was said and done, but he ignored it.

He wanted this. God, he’d wanted it for longer than he’d ever admit, even to himself, but the dam had broken. The ship had sailed.

He was still a manly guy. He still loved women; their bodies, their breasts, their softness.

But he loved Cas too, in whatever shape the angel took, and fuck if he could deny it any longer.

"No new vessels, Cas," he said, leaning in for another kiss. "Promise me."

Cas met him halfway.

~*~*~*~*~

When the spell wore off a week later, the first thing Dean did was pull Cas into his arms and kiss him, stubble and all.


	7. Bed-Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bed-sharing, NSFW

It was one of the smallest motels they had ever stayed at. Generally, they tried to rent rooms with an attached kitchenette, mostly for Sam to make his stupid salads or whatever, but they were also useful when a bit of spellwork was necessary to take down the monster of the week and so Dean didn’t complain too much.

This room didn’t have an attached kitchenette. It was a tiny box of a room, just big enough to squeeze in two twin-sized beds, a dresser that couldn’t have held all of Dean’s socks, and a TV that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a kitchen counter somewhere. The bathroom was just as bad; the shower was big enough for a grown man to stand in, assuming said grown man was built like a twig. The door to the bathroom was actually a curtain, since there was no way in hell a door would have fit.

Typically, such a small room would have been worth a grumble or two, but little actual complaining. The job didn’t exactly pay and if this is what they could afford, this was what they could afford. Any room, no matter how small, was better than sleeping in the Impala.

These were not typical circumstances.

Instead of this room needing to sleep two, it was sleeping three, and there wasn’t enough floorspace nor a couch for said third person to lay their weary head.

Therefore, two people had to share. And since God hated him and loved to torment him, Dean had lost rock-paper-scissors and was trapped in a twin-size bed with a recently fallen Castiel half on top of him.

Dean would’ve rather shared with Sammy. At least then he wouldn’t need to worry about getting a boner in the middle of the night and destroying their friendship.

Cas shifted a little in his sleep, thigh dragging just right in-between Dean’s legs. Dean bit his lip to stifle a groan, body tense with anticipation and gut clenched with guilt.

It did comfort him a little to know that at least no one else was awake to notice his (extremely generous, if he did say so) problem. Sam’s snores were comforting in their familiarity and Castiel’s breathing was too deep and even to indicate anything but the most thorough rest.

Now, if only the former angel would roll off of him so Dean could escape to the bathroom and beat off to the thought of blue eyes and a gravelly voice made hoarse with pleasure-

Dean groaned again, lust spiking. He tried to calm his libido down, reminding himself that this really, really wasn’t the time. It really wasn’t the place, either, but fuck, it  _really_  wasn’t the time.

One didn’t just go up to a recently fallen angel and say “Hey, now that you’re no longer a multidimensional wavelength of celestial whatever and therefore way out of my league, why don’t we get to know each other better? And by ‘better’, I mean Biblically”. Especially not less than a day after it happened.

It didn’t matter how long Dean had been thinking about getting Cas between the sheets. There had to be some sort of grace period after an emotionally traumatic event before it was OK to hit on the victim. Cas had denied it, but Dean had caught him looking lost more than once ever since he’d lost his mojo for good.

Cas stirred and Dean stopped breathing, tensing as though he could force Cas back to unconsciousness by sheer force of will.

"Dean…?" Cas said sleepily, lifting his head and staring at Dean. Dean swallowed. Cas was inches away, the little bit he’d learned about personal space completely eradicated by too little sleep.

"Go back to sleep," Dean whispered back, keeping himself as still as possible and hoping Cas wouldn’t notice that Dean was hard. More than anything, Dean didn’t want things to get strained and awkward between them. Above all, Cas was his friend, his best friend, and Dean would be damned again before he’d lose that.

But, judging from the subtle widening of Castiel’s eyes, it was already too late.

Dean shut his eyes.

"Get off," he said shortly, pushing blindly at Cas’s shoulders. Cas didn’t budge.

Instead, Dean felt him slowly, almost tentatively, grind down against him. Dean’s eyes shot open and he stared at the former angel in shock.

Cas stared back at him evenly, his gaze equal parts want and determination with something like longing lurking in the shadows. Dean opened his mouth, but nothing save a choked syllable escaped.

"Wha-"

Cas didn’t reply, but he moved with more confidence now, lips slightly parted and eyes dark. Dean put a hand over his mouth, trying to keep his moan at the friction quiet.

"What… are you…" he asked, a combination of pleasure and uncertainty rendering him unable to finish the question, but then again he didn’t need to.

"Please," Cas said quietly. "Let me do this for you. I promise it won’t change anything."

Something about Cas’s tone sent alarm bells ringing in Dean’s head. Cas let his head drop, resting his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and breathing heavily, hips still moving. Dean could feel a hardness similar to his own against his thigh, proof that this was doing as much for Cas as it was for him.

The discovery was almost enough to distract Dean from the questions whirring in his brain, but then Cas must have moved just right, because Cas pressed his forehead deeper into Dean’s shoulder and made a small, half-shock half-blissed-out noise.

"Cas, wait-" Dean said, voice breathier than he was comfortable with. He put his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, trying to push him away. Cas’s hands tightened but he stopped. He didn’t look up.

"Please," Cas said. It wasn’t a request or a plea, but some strange hybrid. It was as if Cas wasn’t sure he should ask, but wanted it badly enough to try.

"What do you mean, it won’t change anything?" Dean asked lowly. "It’s sex, Cas. Of course it’ll change things."

"Think of it as assisted masturbation, then," Cas said. "Or as one friend helping out another. It’s only as complicated as you make it."

Castiel’s hand was slipping down, heading directly for the waistband of Dean’s pants. Dean grabbed his wrist, halting the movement even as his body twitched in anticipation.

"It’s us, Cas. Since when are we not complicated?" Dean asked. Cas still didn’t look at him.

"If I was one of your women, you would have let me bring you to orgasm by now," Cas said, matter-of-factly. He lifted his head and met Dean’s eyes. There was regret there, oceans of it, and Dean stared, confused. "I can’t change vessels. This body is mine now until I die, and there is nothing I can do to make it more attractive to you." Cas looked away. "Please, give me this, just once."

Something in Castiel’s voice triggered a memory, followed by another, and another, and then a cascade of them, blinding and intense and revealing a truth Dean couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen before. It was there, had been there, staring him in the face for years, and he had been so busy trying to make sure Cas didn’t notice him wrestling with emotion, he had completely missed the signs of Castiel’s own struggles.

"Cas," he breathed. Cas must have heard the knowledge in Dean’s voice. He tensed but didn’t otherwise move, apparently unwilling to give up his spot laid out on Dean’s body.

Dean squeezed Cas’s wrist lightly, then slowly began guiding it down to the distended front of his pants. Cas looked up sharply.

"Dean?" he asked.

"Touch me," Dean said. Cas hesitantly cupped him through the thin cloth that made up Dean’s sleepwear. Dean bit back a groan and arched into the touch, grateful for once that Sam was such a heavy sleeper.

Shit. Sam.

"We shouldn’t-" Dean began, but then Cas slid his hand into Dean’s pants, suddenly skin to skin, and all coherent thought was lost.

"Please," Cas said again, stroking Dean slowly, carefully. He peppered Dean’s chest with small kisses, dry and chaste and almost reverent.

Cas hadn’t kissed him on the mouth yet. Dean wasn’t sure why that suddenly bothered him, except it did, and he grabbed the sides of Castiel’s head. Dean intended to pull him up and kiss him, he truly did, but then Cas sped up the movements of his head, thumb tracing over the tip of Dean’s cock and collecting little drops of precome on every stroke.

Dean’s hips jerked into the touch, a quiet series of muttered curses falling from his lips, interspersed with Cas’s name. It didn’t take long for Dean to come, biting his lip to keep from waking his brother.

Cas didn’t move, staying on top of Dean for the afterglow, hand still lightly curled around Dean’s softening cock. Dean relaxed, almost boneless, on the bed and gave the former angel a lazy smirk.

"Your turn," he said. He could still feel Cas’s erection against his leg.

Cas, much to Dean’s surprise, shook his head and withdrew his soiled hand from Dean’s pants.

"You don’t need to reciprocate," he said, sitting up carefully and grabbing a far edge of the sheet to wipe off his hand. He avoided Dean’s gaze as he cleaned off his fingers, apparently more interested in that than getting his arousal taken care of. "I wanted to do it."

"Well, I want to reciprocate," Dean replied, torn between being baffled and being annoyed. Cas looked at him then, his gaze reflecting Dean’s irritation.

"I don’t want you to give me anything I can’t keep," he said. His gaze dulled for a moment and he glanced away. "If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it hurts less to never experience something than to taste it and later be denied."

Free will. Family. Peace. The power of millions upon millions of souls.

Dean inwardly winced at the memories Cas’s words had dredged up, but he shook himself and continued on.

"And what exactly do you think I’ll deny you later?" he asked. "This doesn’t have to be the only time we do this."

The look Cas shot Dean was even more obviously irritated than the first.

"I’m not interested in being your fuckbuddy, Dean."

Dean’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide, more shocked that Cas used the vulgarity rather than the fact that Cas knew it. He was so stunned that it took him a minute to actually realize what was said.

"What?" he asked, sitting up. "No, Cas, that’s not…" He trailed off, throat closing up like it always did when he was dangerously close to actually talking about feelings. He took a deep breath, then met and held Castiel’s eyes. "I’m not interested in that either, ok?"

Cas eyed him somewhat suspiciously, but didn’t respond.

"Look… we’re complicated. I’m generally a simple guy, but in this case… I think I like complicated." Dean swallowed, then cupped Castiel’s cheek with a hand. Cas didn’t move as Dean leaned in, but the look in those blue eyes was uncertain and surprised and hopeful all at once.

Dean kissed Cas, pouring what he refused to say into the kiss and hoping Cas knew him well enough to translate.

After a moment, it was very clear that Castiel did understand. Cas threw himself into the kiss, eager but lacking in any sort of finesse, and this time, he didn’t protest when Dean reached down between their bodies.


	8. God's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas and a baby; their little gift from God

They had found Elizabeth almost a full year after Cas Fell and exactly nine months to the day since the tension surrounding Dean and Cas turned from potential into…  _something_. Dean refused to name it, even in his head, and thus far, Cas had respected his wishes. At least out loud; Dean had no way of seeing inside the former angel’s head.

Dean, Sam, and Cas had been exiting a diner in some small town in the middle of Illinois when Sam had heard soft crying. Naturally, the three of them had followed the sound into an alley, hands resting casually on their concealed weapons. Ever since his Fall, Cas had been partial to a small sword not disimilar to the weapon he’d wielded for a millenia. Dean and Sam carried guns.

Dean had been the first one to spot the baby wrapped up in a startlingly clean, pure white cloth. Bright green grass, healthier-looking than even the lawns Dean had seen in front of the houses of movie stars, cushioned her and kept her blanket safely off of the pavement.

Given that the rest of the alley was dark, dirty, and dead, the small patch of life was very obviously magical.

Dean and Sam both drew their guns, already scanning the alley to see if there were any obvious signs of a trap, but Cas had already let go of his sword and was approaching the baby with something like wonder in his eyes.

"Cas, what are you-" Dean began, but cut himself off when Cas shook his head.

"You can put your guns away. She’s not dangerous," he said, kneeling by the little patch of grass.

"And how do you know that?" Dean asked, reluctantly slipping his gun back into the waistband of his pants, though he didn’t let go of it just yet. Sam followed suit, though both Winchesters kept scanning the alley for any other sign of movement.

Cas scooped the bundle up in his arms and the child’s quiet crying - which had continued, volume steady, since they’d first heard it - ceased completely. Cas smiled down at her - was it a her? Dean wasn’t sure, though that’s what Cas had said and he was in a much better position to find that out.

"Hello, little one," Cas said softly, standing back up and turning back to Dean, baby cradled carefully. Something about the image made Dean’s heart trip in his chest, his lungs just a little bit tighter, and he swallowed heavily, pushing the feelings down.

"Cas, are you sure she’s not dangerous?" Sam asked hesitantly. "Or, well, not dangerous herself, but there are some things that like to pose as babies or use them to lure victims… and there’s no way that-" He motioned to the patch of grass. "-is natural."

"On the contrary, it’s probably one of the most natural patches of earth," Cas said. "This child… she’s a gift from God."

Dean and Sam stared at the former angel for a moment, dumbstruck. Cas stared back at them evenly, completely confident.

"I take it you don’t mean that figuratively," Dean said faintly. Cas shook his head.

"My abilities might be… limited, now," Cas said, briefly glancing away. He still got a few perks from being a former angel, one of which was this freaky super-sight he could use to ‘see’ things like souls and magic, but he couldn’t fly, he couldn’t smite demons with a touch, and he couldn’t heal as easily as blinking now. He was just a human, albeit one with some extras. "But I recognize my father’s hand in this."

"So, what? God reached down, touched the Earth, and now that patch is the new Eden or something? Does that make her Eve?" Dean asked sarcastically, nodding at the baby. Cas frowned.

"No. Her name is Elizabeth."

"But why would God give you a baby?" Sam asked, confused. "Or give us a baby?"

Cas looked at Dean for a too-long second and then looked down.

"I don’t know." His voice was carefully bland, too blank to be anything but a lie. Sam, however, was more interested in the glance the former angel had given Dean and he frowned.

"Dean?" he asked. Dean shrugged and tore his eyes away from Cas and Elizabeth. There were thoughts brewing in the back of his head, longings he’d tried to put away but could never fully shelve coming to the fore, but ‘God’ was a touchy subject for Dean and always would be. Dean had no idea what God meant by giving Cas a kid, but it probably wasn’t anything good.

"Hell if I know, Sammy," he said after a moment. "But it’s not like we can keep her. Life on the road-"

"I’m not leaving her," Cas said immediately, almost growling the words as he held the baby closer to his chest. Elizabeth began to cry again and Cas glanced down at her, half-panicked, before forcing himself to relax and sway in hopes of calming her down.

"Cas, I know she’s a gift from God, but she’ll be better off-" Dean began. Cas glared at him.

"She’s my daughter, Dean."

For a second, it was like all the air in the alley had been sucked out. Dean felt the vaccum constrict around him, pushing down on every sqaure inch of his body, and then a hot flood of emotions rushed in.

"So, you’ve never done any ‘cloud-seeding’?" Dean asked, torn between being hurt and lashing out. "Do baby angels take longer to cook or something? God dropped her off down here once her mom popped her out and you’re going to drop everything to take care of her?"

Cas and Sam looked equally taken aback. Elizabeth had started crying again and while the sound sent a pang through Dean — he loved kids, any age, and knowingly making a baby cry would make him feel like absolute and utter shit later, he knew — he was feeling a bit too hurt to care.

What he and Cas had wasn’t serious, or so he’d told himself. It couldn’t be serious, because Dean was Dean, master of the one-night stand and lover of all things female in addition to being Alistair’s once prized pupil. And Cas was… Cas.

And even if what they’d had was serious, the kid was probably from a prior relationship. Nothing to get jealous over, except that Cas had told him over and over that Dean was his first, that Dean was the only one he wanted, that Dean-

Fuck it.

"Or is she half-human and that’s why she’s down here with us instead of up in Heaven? Did one of your ‘lieutenants’ swing by and pay you a visit?" Dean asked, hoping that hearing the words hurt Cas half as much as it hurt Dean to think them.

Sam was staring at Dean in shock, eyes far too knowing and compassionate for Dean’s comfort. He scowled at his brother and looked down, keeping his eyes averted from Cas. Elizabeth was still crying, the sounds increasing in volume the longer they stood there.

"She is part human, yes," Cas said softly, and the admission felt like a knife in Dean’s gut. "But you’re mistaken about the identity of her human parent."

Cas hesitated.

"Dean… she’s ours."

Dean looked up, feeling like the world had been knocked off its axis for the second time that day.

"What?" he asked, only vaguely hearing Sam echo his question.

Cas didn’t speak. He walked towards Dean and carefully shifted Elizabeth so that Dean could see.

Her nose was small and covered with freckles, her green eyes shining with unshed tears as her cries faded to snuffles. Her cheekbones were definitely Cas’s, though, and her hair was the same dark color as the former angel’s.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed, having walked over to peer at the baby.

"How?" Dean asked, mouth dry, as he looked up at Cas. Cas smiled thinly, not quite happy and not quite upset.

"I don’t know," he said. He began to sway again, rocking the child, and he looked down at her. "But I am not leaving her."

"I still don’t understand why God would give you two a baby," Sam said slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask.

Dean felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed around it, heart turning to lead in his chest.

Cas was quiet, though, probably just as interested as Sam in hearing what Dean had to say. When Dean looked up, his suspicions were confirmed; Sam was staring at him with a confused expression and Cas was watching him intently, though more than the usual tiredness dragged at the corners of his eyes.

"Sam," Dean said. He cleared his throat. "Cas and me… for the past few months, we’ve… we might’ve had a thing."

Cas let out the breath he had apparently been holding, quiet but wistful and disappointed. It was barely audible, but it reverberated in Dean’s head and he shook himself. He took a deep breath.

"Scratch that. Cas and I have had a… thing for the past few months." He closed his eyes and inwardly winced. "We’re together, and yes I mean together-together."

It was dead silent for several seconds. Elizabeth didn’t even make a sound.

"… well, that explains a lot," Sam finally said, sounding less shellshocked and more sure with every word. "And I don’t just mean the kid."

Dean scowled.

"And what exactly does it explain?" he grumbled, crossing his arms. Sam grinned at him.

"The sudden insistance on two rooms a few months into Cas’s new life as a human, for one thing," Sam said. "And the staring. I mean, I always knew Cas lov-"

"Sam," Cas cut in quickly. Sam looked at him, grin sliding off his face.

"Knew what?" Dean asked. Sam looked at him, then back to Cas.

"Oh," he said quietly. "I mean, with the kid and all… I guess I thought… never mind."

"It’s not of import, Dean," Cas said, though he refused to look at the hunter. Cas clutched Elizabeth tighter, though she didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were fixed on Dean, though, wide and almost pleading. She’d have a puppy-dog expression to rival Sam’s or Cas’s, that much was certain.

Elizabeth. His daughter. His and Castiel’s.

Dean swallowed.

"Can I hold her?" he asked. Cas nodded and carefully transferred the baby from his arms into Dean’s. Elizabeth was light, but each pound of her tiny body was precious and priceless.

Dean swallowed again and grinned down at the little girl. She smiled back, nose wrinkling in delight.

"Hey, sweetheart," Dean said. He vaguely heard Sam excuse himself to go back to the car and nodded absently, too caught up in cataloguing and categorizing the different features on Elizabeth’s face.

Overall, the shape of her face more closely resembled Castiel’s than his own, though her jaw was far more delicate.

He looked up and smiled at Cas, who returned the expression somewhat wistfully.

"Are you happy?" Cas asked. It was a serious question, but Dean didn’t even need a moment to consider it. He nodded.

"Yeah, I think I am," he said. He looked back down at Elizabeth, who was yawning and blinking tiredly. He looked back at Cas. "Did you ask God for this?"

"I asked him to make you happy," Cas replied softly. "I wasn’t sure if He would listen." Cas glanced down. "You love being a father, Dean, and children are not things I can give you, though I imagine whatever woman you eventually marry will."

The world should probably get its balance checked out, because Dean would swear that there was something wrong with the gravity. Or maybe Dean just needed to stop standing on rugs that were likely to get yanked out from under his feet.

"What?" Dean asked, hearing his voice ask the question as though through a tunnel. Castiel’s reply came back in much the same manner.

"I’ll always be grateful for what we have, Dean. It’s more than I ever expected," Cas said. He laid a hand on Elizabeth’s head. "And Elizabeth is more than I ever dreamed possible. However long this lasts-"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold up" Dean said. "What do you mean, ‘however long this lasts’?!"

Cas stared at him curiously, brow furrowed.

"However long our… ‘thing’ lasts," Cas said carefully. "I want you to know that I’ll always cherish it, but I understand that you’re going to eventually want a wife and children-"

"You understand jack," Dean hissed, emotions in a tangle. He blinked rapidly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying the first five things that popped into his mind.

Cas just stood there, a quizzical look on his face, head tilted and palm still on Elizabeth’s forehead.

"Dean?" he asked.

"I’m happy, all right?" Dean asked, voice thick. "Goddamnit, I’m happy. I’ve got Sam, my car, a daughter… hell, I’ve got a  _daughter_.” He met Cas’s eyes, rounding up his nerves. “And I’ve got you. Our ‘thing’, whatever you want to call it - lovers, boyfriends, partners - I’m in it for as long as you are.”

Cas stared at him, equal parts disbelief, wariness, and hope.

"That could be a very long time," he said carefully, watching Dean’s face for any hint of a reaction.

"Good," Dean said immediately.

"A lifetime, possibly even longer," Cas said, tone challenging now, still disbelieving. A part of Dean wanted to balk at the prospect, shaking in his boots about committing to something, to someone, for that long. A much, much larger part of Dean was crying out in relief and guilt, wanting to greedily gobble up every single one of Castiel’s promises and hold him to them, to make a chain out of Cas’s vows and bind him to Dean’s side so Cas could never leave.

"Perfect," Dean replied evenly. Cas seemed rather taken aback. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but just then Elizabeth made a small, whining noise and drew the attention of both her dads.

"We’ll continue this later," Dean said, carefully maneuvering Elizabeth so he could hold her with one arm. He reached for Castiel’s hand and linked their fingers together, his momentary self-consciousness completely swept away by the look of pleased shock on the former angel’s face. "Let’s take our daughter home."


	9. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mention of Meg kiss. (I wrote this back in 2012)
> 
> High school AU

Dean was drunk.

Not just the ‘I’d-be-tripping-over-my-own-feet-if-i-stood-up’ kind of drunk, but the ‘I’ve-completely-lost-any-sense-I-might-have-had-and-the-hangover-will-kill-me-in-the-morning’ kind of drunk.

Though if he was being honest, the drunkenness wasn’t the only reason he was hanging onto his best friend, Castiel. The hanging onto Cas was a perk of being drunk, since no one looked at him oddly for leaning up against the deceptively slim man and Cas didn’t think anything of Dean burying his face in Cas’s neck and sniffing.

Breathing. Same thing. Except inhaling through his nose meant that Dean got a lungful of Castiel’s scent, sweat and cologne and cheap soap, and Dean had had so many dreams with that scent mingled with other sensory experiences that he never passed up a chance to check and make sure it hadn’t changed.

Not that he liked the dreams or anything. He just liked the stability and preferred his dreams to be factually accurate.

He nuzzled into Cas’s neck and inhaled deeply. Yes, still the same.

"Y’never change, Cas," Dean slurred, scooting closer to Cas in their little booth. Sam and Jess were off, probably on the dance floor of the club, but neither Dean nor Cas were exactly the dancing type.

Especially not together, because they weren’t. Together, that was. They weren’t dating.

And Dean had never considered dancing with Cas. Ever. At all.

"S’good. You shouldn’t change," Dean continued.

"I’m glad I meet with your approval," Cas said dryly. He was a great deal less drunk than Dean, given his legendary alcohol tolerance and the much smaller quantity of drinks he’d imbibed.

Dean’s attention was caught by Cas’s lips as they moved. The sounds they made turned to mush in his ears, lost in favor of staring at their perfectly pink shade, their plumpness, the slight chap…

Ok, so Cas could use a bit of Chapstick. Dean would’ve kissed him even if his lips were cracked and bleeding.

Well, maybe not then.

Or ever, actually. Kissing Cas was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. Dean should never have considered it.

And he should stop. Right now.

Dean licked his lips, still staring.

"Dean?" Cas asked. Dean lifted his eyes to meet Castiel’s gaze.

"Wha?" he asked. Cas frowned.

"You’re very drunk," he said. "Is something wrong? You never drink this much unless you’re upset."

Shit.

"Why’d anything be wrong?" Dean asked, heaving himself away from Cas and onto the table instead. It was absolutely nothing like a small child having a tantrum. Dean did not throw tantrums, especially not over one of the hottest chicks at the university kissing his best friend.

Ok, so Meg Masters might be a man-eater, but that wasn’t Dean’s problem. It wasn’t like he was in love with his best friend. Who Meg kissed. Who might’ve kissed Meg back.

The details were all a bit sketchy and reports of the party (that Dean had for once not been at) varied on the topic. Some said that Meg and Cas had gone home together that night and they’d kept Meg’s roommates up until the wee hours. Some said that Cas had shoved her off with an exclamation about his maidenly virtue being threatened by the harlot. The truth was probably somewhere in the middle.

Cas sighed.

"And now you’re avoiding the question." Cas paused for a moment. "What is it?"

Dean groaned and shut his eyes.

"S’nothing, just let it go," he said. He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes back up. Cas was staring at him from inches away. Dean forgot to breathe.

"Are you angry with me?" Cas asked seriously. "You’ve barely spoken to me all week."

Dean scowled darkly and looked away.

"No."

The hand slipped from his shoulder.

"So you are angry with me," Cas said, sounding somewhat annoyed, somewhat hurt, and very confused. "And what did I do?"

"Nothing," Dean said. And that might be true. He had nothing to prove that Cas either did or didn’t do anything with Meg, only secondhand reports that were all so radically different he couldn’t figure out what had actually happened.

If Cas finally wanted to chase some tail, that was fine with Dean. Totally fine. Long overdue, actually. Dean had tried to set him up in high school with Chastity who, according to rumors, would put out after the first ten minutes of the first date. It hadn’t gone well.

But really, at this point, it was more shocking than anything that Cas hadn’t been laid yet. Cas had never even had a girlfriend, despite his slim, lithe strength, his dark, messy hair, his gorgeous blue eyes that seemed to stare soul-deep-

Not that Dean had noticed. Or wanted to notice. Or spent most of his waking moments trying to not notice.

Dean hadn’t ever gotten laid either, but he’d had girlfriends. Lots of them. They just never lasted long, since most weren’t willing to put up with his devotion to his brother and to his best friend. One they might have handled, but two was apparently too much.

Not that anyone knew. About the ‘not-getting-laid’ thing. Dean hadn’t told anyone that, not even Cas, so everyone had assumed he’d lost his V-card with his first girlfriend, freshman year of high school. There’d been some over-the-clothes fumbling, but that was as far as it had gone.

None of the girls had been right. Dean had been interested in them, but it had never particularly bothered him that his relationships never went that far. His right hand was more than enough and his fantasies were rich.

If said fantasies often starred a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed best friend of his, rather than whoever his Girlfriend of the Week happened to be, no one had to know.

It wasn’t like he’d been saving himself for Cas or anything.

The very idea was ridiculous.

… ok, so he hadn’t been doing it on purpose. That had to count for something and earn him a few Man-Points back.

"I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did wrong."

Dean looked back at Cas and blinked, momentarily confused, then he remembered their conversation.

"I told you-" he started to say, but Cas interrupted him.

"Is this about Meg?"

Dean scowled instantly, then tried to force the expression off his face when he saw Castiel’s eyes grow bright with grim satisfaction.

"No. Why would I be angry about Meg? Is there anything about her I should be angry about?" Dean asked. The force of his irritation had cleared up a good bit of the slur in his words, though it still lurked.

"Do you like her, Dean?" Cas asked slowly. He sounded almost unhappy, though Dean had no idea what  _he_  had to be unhappy about. “Are you angry with me because I kissed her?”

The bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach and all his intestines shriveled up and burned.

"You kissed her?" Dean asked, sitting back up. That was confirmation of everything Dean hadn’t wanted to hear. He looked down at the tabletop. “‘M gonna get another drink."

He moved to shuffle off, but Cas grabbed his wrist and held him in place.

"You drink any more and you’ll get alcohol poisoning," Cas said firmly. He relaxed his grip slightly when he saw Dean wince, like he hadn’t meant to grab so tightly. "She kissed me first."

"So you just kiss back?!" Dean demanded, aware that he sounded sulky and not giving a damn.

"I was curious," Cas shot back. "If I had known you liked her, I-"

"I don’t give a flying fuck about Meg!" Dean snapped, surging into Castiel’s personal space in what would have been a hilarious reversal of their usual roles if Dean had felt like laughing. "And what, you’re curious so you just go and  _kiss_  people now?”

Cas’s eyes were wide. Dean could almost see his mind working furiously behind them and, as Dean realized what he’d said, the color drained from his face. His brain took up a litany of ‘please don’t let him figure it out, please don’t let him figure it out…’

"Dean," Cas asked carefully, staring into Dean’s eyes intently. "Are you jealous?"

Dean backed off as though shot. It was enough of an answer in itself.

Cas followed him instantly, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and keeping him in their booth. Dean glared.

"Let go!"

"I kissed her because I wondered, for a long time, about what it would be like to kiss  _you_ ,” Cas said in a rush. Dean, still running on more fight-or-flight response than actual thought, not consciously registering the words or parsing their meaning though his subconscious sure as hell did.

"Then fucking ask me next time," Dean growled, swooping back in to plant his mouth firmly over Cas’s. Cas tensed with shock, then melted into the sloppy kiss, opening his mouth eagerly for Dean’s tongue as Dean ran it in sloppy, possessive licks over Castiel’s lips and tongue.

Dean tilted his head to get a better angle, crowding close, and it was about then that he finally consciously registered what it was Cas had said.

He pulled back, startled, with the taste of Cas and traces of his saliva still on his lips.

"How long?" he asked. Cas looked delicious with his face flushed and lips wet; Dean felt a sharp spike of need go through him and he almost groaned out loud, cock hardening in his jeans.

"Eighth grade," Cas replied. Dean did groan at that, letting his head tip forward to lean against Castiel’s shoulder.

"We’ve wasted a lot of time," he said, torn between irritation and amusement.

"How long…?" Cas ventured cautiously. Dean chuckled dryly.

"About eight years."

"You, too?" Cas asked, sounding stunned. Dean nodded, head still against Castiel’s shoulder.

"Just think…" Dean said, turning his head and nipping at Cas’s neck. Cas gasped and tilted his head to give Dean more space. "We could have been doing this-" He kissed and nibbled his way back to Cas’s lips. "-since high school."

Cas arched into Dean, practically attacking Dean’s mouth with his own. Dean moaned, grinding down on the beginnings of Cas’s erection.

"I hope you don’t think I’m easy for this, but can we please go home?" Cas asked breathlessly, desire darkening his eyes. Dean nodded rapidly.

"I’ll still respect you in the morning if you respect me," Dean replied, grinning. "We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up."


	10. Reputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff, maybe slight nsfw for nudity?

The water was warm, but not hot. Soothing, rather than overwhelming.

Dean was leaning against one of the porcelain walls of the tub, the top rim digging into his back and his head resting on the faded, chipped white tiles covering the wall. Resting between his legs, body boneless and eyes shut, was Cas. Dean’s arms were wrapped loosely around the angel’s waist, supportive rather than restrictive. Cas’s head was tipped back, resting on Dean’s shoulder.

They breathed together, inhaling the faint steam that rose from the water.

Dean brushed his lips over Castiel’s jaw, a gentle, thoughtless gesture that for once wasn’t a prelude to more. Having Cas naked and in his arms had, once upon a time, been for one thing and one thing only while Dean clung desperately to his reputation.

Now, though, his reputation and Castiel’s nudity were the furthest things from Dean’s mind.

He’d learned.

It had taken him a while, but he’d learned.

Cas turned in Dean’s hold, eyes opening and finding Dean’s for a moment before slipping shut once more. Cas moved his head closer to Dean’s neck, inhaling deeply through his nose, and brought his other hand to rest upon Dean’s heart. The water sloshed lazily around Cas as he twisted, then both water and angel settled.

Dean could almost feel Cas’s weight increase as Cas fell into what Dean hoped would be a restorative sleep. Angels didn’t typically need to sleep, but Dean wasn’t worried; Cas was hardly a typical angel.

There were still questions to answer, about what had happened to Cas down there, how he’d gotten out,  _why did he let go_ , but those could wait.

Dean lifted a hand to run through Castiel’s damp hair, the other arm tightening around Cas’s waist when the angel threatened to slip under the surface.

Once upon a time, Dean had been absolutely certain that family and reputation were the two things a man should protect above all else.

He’d learned that, sometimes, things happen and people you never expected become family in ways you never anticipated. They become family in ways that could destroy your reputation, if word ever got out.

He looked down at Cas, feeling his expression going soft and, for the first time, truly not caring.

Sometimes, there were things more important than reputation, and what he had with Cas… whatever this was, it was more than worth it.


	11. Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts seeing Cas wherever he goes. Based on S7 preview.

Dean’s in the bathroom, splashing water in his face and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t insane.

Sam had confided in him once, when they’d both gotten falling-down-drunk, that he sometimes thought he saw Jess, even months after her death. It only made sense that-

Dean feels his stomach twist and he groans, burying his face in his damp hands. He doesn’t cry because he can’t, because Castiel / _s not dead_. He’s merely trapped in Purgatory with no way out and Leviathans coming closer and closer—

But Cas can’t be dead. Dean can’t let himself believe that, and crying would mean accepting it.

Cas will come back. He always has before.

Dean wipes his face with the towel and looks up, breath catching when he looks in the mirror. It’s another hallucination, it has to be, but Dean’s chest aches at the sight anyway.

Castiel’s reflection smiles.

"Hello, Dean."

That sounded real. Dean turns, eyes wide and thoughts grinding to a halt.

"Cas?" he asks quietly, like speaking too loudly will cause the vision to shatter. He waits, half-expecting Cas to vanish.

Cas doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t even move. He just stares at Dean, gaze soft and eyes the same glorious color Dean remembers. Cas is covered in filth and dirt and blood and he reeks to high heaven, like sweat and copper and musk, but Dean doesn’t care. There’s no way he’s hallucinating all this.

Cas is  _back_.

Dean’s body moves before his mind has fully come to terms with the realization. He steps forward, seizes the front of Cas’s trenchcoat, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Castiel’s stubble is rough against Dean’s cheek, but it feels so damn good.

"Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again, you stupid son of a bitch," Dean grinds out, not releasing his hold on Cas for an instant.

Slowly, tentatively, Cas’s arms come up and wrap lightly around Dean. For the second time in as many minutes, Dean’s thoughts just stop. He can’t think; at least, not about anything other than the way Cas fits against him, how warm Cas is.

This close, Dean can feel Castiel’s heart racing in his chest. It’s Castiel’s body now, not Jimmy’s. Jimmy had left a long time ago.

"I won’t," Cas promises, and it takes Dean a moment to remember what Cas was replying to. He reluctantly drops his arms, aware that their embrace had gone on for longer than was strictly normal. Cas hesitates, but follows suit and allows Dean to take half a step back. Dean’s gaze is caught by Castiel’s eyes and he stills, staring.

Dean is usually very good at suppressing his desires, especially with regards to Cas, but he’d lost the angel too many times. He licks his lips, gaze briefly dropping to Castiel’s mouth, but unsure of his welcome, he doesn’t move.

He wants to kiss Cas so badly he aches with it, a selfish kind of hopeless longing, but he stops himself. He can’t, he shouldn’t, he—

"Dean?" Cas asks, voice soft. Dean realizes that their faces are mere inches apart. He can feel a puff of warm air every time Cas exhales.

"Yeah?" he asks, wishing he had the strength of will to pull away. Cas’s mouth is like a magnet though, drawing him dangerously closer and closer.

Cas’s eyes flick down to Dean’s lips. Cas hesitantly leans in, tilting his head at just the right angle to press his mouth to Dean’s. Dean’s brain short circuits. Cas almost immediately pulls away, opening his mouth to speak, but Dean chases him. He buries a hand in the hair on the nape of Castiel’s neck and pulls him back in, claiming his mouth and drawing a surprised ‘mmph!’ from Cas at the same time. Within the space of a heartbeat, Cas is kissing back just as desperately.

Dean’s got a ton of questions, from ‘how did you get out?’ to ‘are you really here?’ and ‘is this really happening?’, but he doesn’t ask. There’ll be time for all that later and right now, he’s far more interested in learning how Cas tastes.


	12. Freckles (Part 1 and 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freckle appreciation fic

Dean had fallen asleep on his front tonight. His arms were wrapped around a pillow, lips parted and back slowly rising and falling with every even breath. His bronze skin seemed almost pale in the moonlight, each freckle standing out in sharp relief.

Cas smiled and ran gentle fingertips over Dean’s warm skin. He traced meaningless patterns with his fingers, connecting the dots over and over again. Dean didn’t stir; his body was so used to Cas’s hands and presence that he didn’t register as a threat, even with Dean’s finely honed hunting skills.

Cas loved it, especially since this lapse in Dean’s defenses is what allowed Castiel to carry out this little ritual.

There were precisely one hundred and seventy-six freckles across Dean’s back and neck, some so light they nearly blended in to Dean’s tan and others so small they were next to invisible regardless of their color. But they were all there.

Cas moved closer and pressed his lips against the warm curve of the shoulder blade closest to him. He concentrated and let just a hint of his Grace seep out, burrowing happily into the top few layers of skin and curling in on itself. In the morning, Dean would have a new freckle.

On Dean’s back and neck, there are exactly one hundred and seventy-seven freckles. There are fifty-eight across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. and fourty-four peppering his shoulders and chest. Twenty-three decorate one arm and seventeen the other. Three daring freckles rest along the smooth curve of Dean’s ass. There are thirteen up his right leg and twenty-two down his left. On his feet are eight freckles.

They all add up to a year’s worth of nights spent in Dean’s arms.

"Happy anniversary, Dean," Cas whispered, closing his eyes and moving closer to his lover.

* * *

 

Dean scowled at the mirror, twisting and turning this way and that to see his back. He was dead certain he hadn’t had this many freckles before, but surely he hadn’t been getting that much sun…

But how else was he supposed to explain the freckles?

He was so distracted by scowling at his reflection that he didn’t hear Cas walk into the bathroom until the angel spoke.

"Dean?"

Dean turned and tried to smile, though it came out more as a grimace.

"Hey, Cas," he said. Cas frowned.

"What’s wrong?"

There was no use trying to deny that something  _was_  wrong (Dean had learned his lesson within the first month of their relationship; damn having a mindreader for a lover, though Dean admitted he’d never been happier, and don’t even get him started on the mindblowing sex.), Dean sighed and gestured at his reflection.

"I’m  _covered_  in freckles. It’s time to start breaking out the sunscreen, I guess.” Dean scowled again. “I haven’t even been getting that much sun.”

Castiel’s smile was very pleased.

"I woudn’t worry about them," he said, stepping closer to Dean and drawing a hand along his freckled shoulders. "Though I was wondering how long it would take you to notice."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Castiel smiled softly, his touch reverent.

"Mothers used to tell their children that freckles were kisses from the angels," Cas said simply. He waited. Dean blinked.

"Oh, no. Oh,  _hell_ no.”

"What is it?"

"You’ve been covering me in angelic hickies?" Dean asked disbelievingly. "Dude, you can’t-"

"They suit you," Cas said. He reached up and touched Dean’s face. "Do you know that I’ve spent three hundred and eighty-two nights in your arms?"

"What’s that got to do with anything?" Dean asked. He could feel his face heating up and he tried willing himself not to blush, like he always did whenever Cas said something unbearably sappy.

"Each freckle marks a night I’ve spent with you," Cas said. "But if you’d prefer me to remove them, I can."

Dean looked away, his innards doing strange, not-unpleasant flips. He didn’t really mind the freckles so much…

"Nah, leave ‘em," he said. He looked back at Cas. "Just don’t make any more, all right? You’ll turn me into one giant freckle."

Castiel’s answering smile was brilliant, so joyous Dean’s breath caught and for a second, he had no idea what it was he’d done to cause it. Then he realized.

There was still plenty of open space on his skin, areas not yet marked by freckles. Cas would need to make a new one every night for decades before he could possibly mark every spot and while Dean didn’t exactly want to be covered from head to foot in freckles, he did want to wake up with Cas when he was fifty and he’d as good as told Cas as much.

"All right, no more freckles," Cas said, drawing Dean down for a kiss.


	13. Wing Grooming

Dean woke up, as he did most mornings, with an armful of angel and the equivalent of a feather blanket covering them both. Cas was cuddled up to Dean’s side, breathing deep and even and his eyes closed. Angels might not need to sleep, but they did require rest and could meditate so deeply that it closely resembled sleep.

Apparently, they could only truly rest while being watched over by someone they trusted, and the wings only came out when that trust was absolute. An angel’s wings were vulnerable, especially when physically manifested, and every morning when Dean woke up cradled by beautiful black feathers, he felt himself falling a little bit deeper in love was Cas. He hadn’t thought that was even possible.

He carefully extricated himself from Castiel’s hold and sat up slowly. Cas rarely meditated longer than Dean slept, but when he did, Dean liked to ‘wake’ him up.

Cas shifted a little at the change in their positions, but his eyes were still closed. Dean grinned and touched the wing that had been blanketing them, caressing the feathers. He always marveled at how soft they were; it was like dragging his fingers through silk, though Castiel assured him that the feathers could go diamond-hard and razor-sharp in an instant if Cas was called to fight. An angel’s wings could be deadly as well as pretty, but all Dean had ever known was this softness.

He carded his fingers through the feathers, fingertips dragging lightly over the flesh beneath, and hummed quietly to himself as he picked out the loose feathers and set them aside.

Cas made a quiet noise of appreciation, unconsciously flexing the wing so that Dean could reach more of it. The angel was still out of it, but he was scooting closer to Dean and making a noise Dean could only think of as a purr.

Dean chuckled and drew his fingers through the feathers at the top of the wing to smooth them. It was only when his hands at last reached the smaller feathers nearest Castiel’s back that the angel’s eyes finally opened.

"Good morning," Dean said, dipping down to press a kiss to Castiel’s sleep-slack mouth. Cas responded lazily, still more asleep than awake.

"Good morning," Cas replied when Dean drew back. His wing arched insistently against Dean’s palm. "You can keep doing that."

"Oh, I can, can I?" Dean teased. He started up again, just to feel Cas scoot even closer and rest his head atop Dean’s thighs, sighing happily.


	14. Valentine Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With bonus Sam!

"Are you sure about this, Sam?" Castiel asked, staring doubtfully at the large, heart-shaped cherry pie Sam had helped him pick out.

"Absolutely," Sam said, grinning. "It might not be a traditional Valentine’s Day gift, but Dean’ll love it."

Cas frowned, glancing from the baked confection to Sam’s face and back again.

"The advertisements all said-"

"Cas," Sam said gently, laying a hand on the angel’s shoulder. "Trust me on this one. Dean doesn’t want flowers and chocolate." Sam hesitated. "And I already told you that you don’t need the pie. If you just tell him-"

"Tell me what?"

Sam jerked his hand away from Castiel’s shoulder and both he and Cas turned to find a very, very unhappy Dean in the doorway to the motel room. Dean was glaring at the rather narrow margin of personal space currently between Sam and Cas like it had done him an injury. He was carrying two bags with the logo of the nearby chain grocery store; that shopping trip had gone quicker than Sam had expected. He hadn’t even gotten to finish giving Cas his pep-talk.

"This is for you," Cas said, doing an admirable job of appearing completely unaffected when Sam knew that nerves were chewing up the angel’s guts right about now.

Dean’s expression instantly melted from suspicious to surprised. He set the bags down on the table and turned to Cas.

"You got me pie?" he asked, reaching his hands out for it. Cas nodded and let Dean take it, waiting for Dean to see the message that had been cut into the top crust.

Dean’s eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath when he noticed the ‘I Love You’.

"What… was this the last one in the shop or something?" he asked hoarsely, trying to chuckle and failing miserably.

"No," Cas answered, voice soft.

Sam watched with baited breath as Dean’s gaze jerked up, disbelieving green meeting steadfast blue.

"Cas…" Dean said. His voice was strained, so he cleared his throat. "Are… do you.."

"Yes."

Dean swallowed thickly and, apparently not thinking, he slid the pie from his hand to the tabletop and stepped closer to Cas. The tension between them escalated, crackling in the air and suddenly Sam was certain that there was somewhere he needed to be. It didn’t matter where, but he desperately needed to be anywhere but here.

"I’m just… going to go…" Sam said, edging towards the door, around the edge of the table opposite where Cas and Dean were having one of the epic eye-making-love moments that had prompted Sam to lend a hand in the first place.

Neither Dean nor Cas answered him, both already wavering towards the other like someone had magnetized their mouths.

On his way out, Sam thoughtfully hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door and walked away, whistling cheerfully.


	15. Firefighter

Dean coughed, the force of it sending him to the tiled floor of his classroom. He’d been crawling already, so it wasn’t like he had that far to fall.

He curled in on himself, coughing and hacking and cursing himself for going back in. He was a first-grade teacher, not a firefighter, and it wasn’t his job to do one last heroic sweep of the building to make sure all the kids had gotten out.

And now he was going to die like an idiot, lungs full of smoke and flames superheating the air around him. He was covered in sweat and soot, skin tight and burned in too many places to think about.

Dean gamely tried to get back up, to keep crawling towards the windows and hopefully fresh air and an escape, but he couldn’t get up. The hallway was already consumed.

Dean shut his eyes, mouth too dry to swallow around the lump in his throat and eyes stinging from more than just the heat and smoke. He was going to die here and leave his brother all alone. He’d be leaving his kids alone; it didn’t matter that they’d get a new teacher, they were  _his_  class.

Dean heard what sounded like heavy footsteps over the sound of crackling fire and managed to lift his head. In the doorway was a fireman, huge and imposing in his fireproof gear and breathing through a facemask. Flames shot up all around him.

Dean struggled to get to his feet again as the fireman approached, determined not to be carried out like some kind of damsel in distress, but no luck. He collapsed again, coughing like he was trying to get rid of both his lungs, but then there was a hand on his back and he was being lifted.

The last thing Dean remembered before passing out was a pair of startlingly blue eyes peering down at him through a plate of glass.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I told you, Sammy, I’m fine," Dean said into the phone. It would have been more convincing if his voice didn’t sound like he’d been gargling with glass shards. "Don’t take a week off of school on my account."

"I’m already at the airport, Dean," Sam said firmly. "My professors were all very understanding."

There was a pause and Dean could faintly hear a woman’s voice over the intercom on the other side of the phone, as well as a low buzz of conversation between the people around Sam.

"My plane’s boarding. I’ll see you in a few hours," Sam said. There was a small pause. "You really scared me, Dean. When I got the call from the hospital…"

"… yeah, I know." Dean did. You didn’t lose both parents to a fire and come out of that unscathed. (Well, in fact only their mother had died in the fire, but Mary’s death is what prompted John to turn to the drink that killed him). "I’ll see you in a few hours. Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam hung up. Dean hung the phone back on the hook and leaned back into the pillows. He shut his eyes.

The smoke inhalation had done a real number on him and he still had trouble breathing at times, but the doctors assured him that he’d be back on his feet in no time. The burns had been pretty bad in places - a burn on his thigh had required a skin graft and he was still sensitive all over, but it could have been at lot worse. At least he was still alive.

There was a knock at the door.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean opened his eyes and turned towards the sound, already scowling. The nurse had already been by to give him his meds and checkup and Sam’s flight hadn’t even taken off yet, so who…?

A man Dean didn’t recognize stood in the doorway. His tan overcoat was slightly too big for him, making him seem small, and his hair was dark and ruffled like he’d just rolled out of bed. Dean’s libido briefly piped up that he’d love to get this guy back into said bed, but he squelched the thought.

The man had startlingly blue eyes. Dean’s breath caught, eyes widening in recognition.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said, voice deep and smooth. "I’m Castiel Novak. I’m-"

"The firefighter who rescued my ass, right?" Dean said, smiling. Castiel seemed surprised, but he nodded. "Do you always check up on the people you pull out of the fire?"

"Some of them," Castiel admitted. "I wasn’t expecting you to recognize me."

"I wouldn’t forget a pair of eyes like yours," Dean said, trying on his most charming smile. He winced when the action pulled at the burns on his face and he remembered that he looked like something the cat had dragged through the bonfire. Figured that he’d meet the most attractive man he’d seen in ages when he was burned and weak in a hospital bed.

To his surprise, he head footsteps approach his bed and then the scrape of the visitor’s chair against the tile. He opened his eyes and looked to see Castiel settling down, coat off and hung over the back of the chair.

"I wouldn’t forget a pair of eyes like yours either," Castiel said simply.


	16. First Cold

Dean carefully set the steaming bowl of tomato rice soup next to the open two-liter bottle of Sprite and box of Kleenex, directly in front of a human-sized and shaped mound of blankets. A small tuft of dark hair peeked out of the top and Dean grinned, reaching for the edge of the blanket.

"Cas, dinner’s ready," he said, peeling it back. Cas glared balefully at him, nose red and runny, bags under his eyes thick and heavy.

"Not hungry," the former angel answered unhappily. "I’ll just vomit it up again."

"Not this you won’t," Dean said confidently. He coughed and ducked his head, then added quietly. "My mom used to make this for me when I was sick."

Cas hesitated a moment, then slowly let the blankets drop enough to free his arms. He reached for the bowl and lifted it, shivering slightly when the unheated air outside his little cocoon hit his arms.

Dean settled himself onto the couch next to Cas, throwing an arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulling him a little closer. Cas melted into his side, though stayed mostly upright so that the soup wouldn’t spill.

Dean pretended to watch TV, but out of the corner of his eye, he tracked Cas as he picked up his spoon and brought a little of the soup to his mouth. He blew on it to cool it and then the spoon and the soup disappeared between his lips.

Cas dipped the spoon into the bowl again, getting more this time. Dean grinned, the slight tension in his chest evaporating and warmth taking its place.

"How is it?" he asked. Cas glanced at him and smiled, sniffling a bit.

"It’s wonderful, Dean," he said. He kissed Dean’s cheek softly. "Thank you."


	17. Don't Ever Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First few lines by sycor

> Cas gets it when Dean says “don’t ever change.” He knows what he’s been through, he knows why Dean touches him on the shoulder. It’s because Dean needs that, he needs that confirmation that Cas is still his angel, is still… there.

So Cas tries. He tries to be what Dean needs; a guardian, a protector, a comrade-in-arms, and (dare he hope?) a friend.

And tries desperately to cling to his wings, even as he begins to Fall. Dean needs him to be an angel, so an angel he will be. For Dean.

Always for Dean.

That’s why it stings so much when his feathers begin to fall out and his Grace begins to dwindle. The soul that grows as his Grace shrinks is a bane, a condemnation and a betrayal.

He is becoming human. He is  _changing_  and he can’t be what Dean needs any longer. He can’t protect Dean, or Sam, or the world, and Lucifer is loose.

Dean finds him on a park bench one afternoon, a week after the last feathers fell and now Castiel is left with only faint wisps of Grace. He is all but mortal and within a month, there will be nothing left to indicate that he was never born human.

Dean slides up next to him on the bench, knees touching. Part of Castiel is thrilled at the contact, even though he’s sure that it means nothing to Dean.

"Okay, what’s been eating you?" Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t look at him.

"I’m human," he answers slowly, unhappily. Dean snorts, not unkindly.

"Welcome to the club."

Castiel shoots Dean an irritated look. Dean just raises an eyebrow.

"That’s not all that’s bugging you," Dean says. "You’ve been pissy for weeks."

"And you don’t think Falling is enough to explain why I’ve been ‘pissy’?" Cas snaps. "I’ve lost Heaven. I’ve lost my Grace. Everything I knew is gone." Cas looks down. "Who do you know that wouldn’t mourn such losses?"

"Look, I know you’ve done a lot," Dean says, voice surprisingly gentle. "That’s why I’m asking what’s been up with you. You’ve been off lately, and when we’re hunting the goddamn Devil, ‘off’ gets you killed."

Cas looks up at him, surprised. Dean scowls.

"What?"

"You were worried?" Cas asks. Dean looks away, scratching the back of his head.

"Your point is?" he says. Cas hesitates and directs his gaze elsewhere once more.

"You once told me never to change," he says. "But I’m fundamentally different now than I was then. Like this, I can’t-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean says, holding up a hand to stop Cas right there. “‘Fundamentally changed’?"

"My Grace," Cas says, glancing back at Dean. "I’m practically human now."

Dean shakes his head and then catches Castiel’s eyes, making sure to keep their gazes locked.

"Look, I’m only going to say this once, but that isn’t what I meant when I told you ‘don’t ever change’," Dean says, voice a little hoarse. "Angel, human, rainbow-farting unicorn… whatever. You haven’t changed in any of the ways that matter."

"Dean…" Cas breathes. Dean looks away.

"Come on, Sam’s probably done checking in." Dean pushes himself up off the bench and begins walking back towards the motel less than a block away. Cas, feeling lighter than he has in weeks, follows.


	18. Day Off

It was one of their rare off-days. There were no pressing hunts, no Apocalypses hovering over their heads, personal or otherwise. Sam was using the time to read some new fiction novel he had picked up on their way to Bobby’s, but Dean had a much better plan for his day off; some quality time with his baby.

She’d been making some worrying rumbling noises the last few miles, but a quick peek under the hood had assured him that it was nothing serious. A little TLC and she’d be good as new.

Dean was so immersed in tinkering with the engine that he completely missed the soft sound of wingbeats.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean jumped, banging his head on the underside of the hood.

"Jesus-"

The hood slammed down on his hand, knocked free of its support.

"-FUCK."

Dean jerked his hand away from the car. It was throbbing horribly and he swore again.

"Goddamnit." He turned an unhappy glare on Castiel, who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes. "Didn’t I tell you not to sneak up on me?!"

"My apologies," Cas said. He did sound sincerely sorry and Dean felt his anger fade even though his head still hurt and his hand still felt like something had just tried to eat it. Cas reached for him. "May I?"

"We need to get you a bell," Dean grumbled petulantly and only half-serious. He could never stay angry with his lover for long. He lifted his arm

Cas brought Dean’s hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. Warmth and healing Grace flooded into the damaged skin and the broken blood vessels beneath.

"You hit your head as well, correct?" Cas asked, already reaching to pull Dean down. Dean let him, eyes fluttering shut briefly when Cas kissed his forehead. Healing Grace sparked through the thin skin of his scalp to the small lump on the back of his skull, soothing it and shrinking it to nothing. Ah, bliss.

"I think I bit my tongue too," Dean said, hopeful. Cas smiled indulgently.

"You think?" he asked, amused.

"Well, I might have. You should check."

Chuckling softly, Cas pulled Dean in for another kiss.


	19. Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in S7 with patient!Cas.
> 
> Angst and metaphors

"Can we play now, Dean?"

"What?" Dean asked, looking up from the dusty book he’d been paging through for the past three hours. His eyes were sore, but Sam was getting some much-needed sleep and they couldn’t afford to just sit around.  _Someone_  needed to be doing something, and Cas was in no shape to.

"Play Twister," Cas said earnestly, holding up the box. He was smiling, wide and bright, and Dean looked away.

"No," he said. "I don’t even know where you got that, but put it back."

He could practically feel Castiel’s mood drop.

"Oh," Cas said softly. "Perhaps later? You should rest."

"We’re not playing Twister, Cas," Dean snapped. The combination of this damn book and this broken, too-sweet version of Cas had soured his mood; had been for a while, if Dean was going to be honest with himself.

He missed the old Cas, the one who would ask hookers about their fathers. The one who would take on an archangel to allow Dean a little bit of time, the one who confided in Dean and didn’t judge Dean for his weaknesses.

The one who had opened up Purgatory and walked into the lake. The self-sacrificing  _moron_  Dean had to watch slip through his fingers time and time again.

This Cas was just painful to watch, just like Cas as the new God, or the Leviathan as Cas had been.

Or Emmanuel, though Dean didn’t like to think of him.

"You did promise," Cas said reasonably.

"I did n-" Dean stopped. He vaguely remembered Cas coming by an hour ago and asking him something. Dean had waved him off with a quick affirmative, certain it couldn’t have been anything important.

Cas stared at him expectantly, hopeful. Dean groaned and shut his eyes.

"One game, all right?" he said, getting up from the table.

"Excellent," Cas said, beaming. He shook the box. In an instant, the game had assembled itself behind him. Dean and Cas took up their places at opposite sides and Cas hit the plastic arrow on the spinner.

"Left hand green," Cas said. He waited expectantly for Dean to move and then handed him the spinner.

"Right foot blue," Dean grumbled. Cas placed his foot on an appropriate spot and in that fashion, passing the spinner back and forth, they played until they were well and tangled.

Cas was on the bottom, his back parallel to the ground while he tried to balance himself with one hand on blue, one on green, and both feet on red. Dean hovered above him, one hand on red and the other on yellow. One of his feet was on yellow as well, and the other was on blue.

It was Castiel’s turn to spin. He reached for the spinner, but couldn’t quite reach. Dean was about to shift and try to shove the square piece of cardboard within the reach of Cas’s fingertips, but the angel overextended himself and collapsed, dragging Dean down with him.

"I suppose that’s game over," Castiel said, staring up at Dean. Dean swallowed heavily, very, very aware of how close their mouths were and how much of their bodies were pressed together.

"Yeah, that’s it," Dean said. He tried to push himself up, but his legs were still tangled up with Cas’s and he couldn’t move.

"Strange," Cas commented mildly. "You reach a little too far, make the wrong choice where to step… and everything collapses."

"That’s Twister," Dean grumbled, still trying to get up. Cas didn’t move and Dean gave up, leg too pinned and Cas too heavy. "Never thought I’d say this, but can I get back to research now?"

Cas looked at him, eyes distant and smile falsely bright.

"But I had to spin, Dean. I tried to be careful, because… well, my position was difficult. Everything was about to collapse." Cas’s smile faded. "I suppose everything did. But I had to spin."

Dean had the uncomfortable feeling that they were no longer talking about the game.

"Cas…" he said slowly. Cas blinked slowly and tilted his head. He reached up to cup Dean’s face. Dean’s breathing stuttered to a stop.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t a better player," Cas said, looking and sounding more lucid than he had in days. Slowly, Cas leaned up and kissed Dean chastely on the lips.

Before Dean could react, almost before he knew what was going on. Cas drew back, smile and eyes false and fever-bright.

"Thank you."

In the next second, the playing mat, the spinner, and the angel had vanished.


	20. Obligatory Coffeeshop AU

Dean gave the serving counter one last wipe with the damp rag he held and looked over it critically. He wanted to make sure he hadn’t missed a single spot, and if the reason for him wanting to remain by the counter had more to do with the fact that Castiel was currently sweeping by the bathrooms (which were impossible to see from anywhere but the serving counter) than with any desire to perform his duties to the best of his ability… no one had to know but Dean.

He allowed his eyes to roam over his coworker’s back, the way the apron hugged his hips. For a moment, Dean had a vision of Cas in nothing but that apron, bringing Dean coffee and one of his killer apple turnovers for breakfast-in-bed. Cas would feed him his treat bit by bit, letting Dean suck the crumbs and filling off his fingers, and then they’d kiss and fall back into bed and not leave it the whole day.

(In his fantasies, whenever Dean thought about what he’d do if he ever managed to get Cas into bed, he usually thought more about never letting Cas go than any specific act. The important part was  _Cas_.)

Dean shook himself and scowled miserably. Naturally, the ‘most important part’ was unobtainable. Dean Winchester, the boy who had Casanova’d his way through half the female student body in high school and had been Don Juaning his way through anyone who caught his interest in the Engineering department at university, had finally fallen fast and fallen  _hard_  for a dude who wouldn’t know what flirting was if it came up and bit him on his perky, shapely ass.

 

Dean had started work at the Beanhive a little less than nine months ago. For a while, Cas has just been his coworker, albeit his very, very  _hot_  coworker. Dean had no idea when things had changed, but before he knew it, he was refusing party invitations in favor of more hours at the coffee shop and his one-night-stands and brief flings petered out. He had been ‘officially pining’, according to his dork of a younger brother, for six months and hadn’t been laid in almost as long.

Fucking someone to try and work his feelings for Cas out of his system hadn’t left him with anything but a bad taste in his mouth. He hadn’t tried it again.

He /had/ tried, somewhere in months two and three, to rationalize his feelings away. Cas was a bookworm, religious, straight-laced - hell, he might even be  _straight_ , which would immediately capsize any plans Dean was trying to set sailing. But then… his eyes were the most gorgeous things Dean had ever seen, his hair was always a wreck and had that natural just-rolled-out-of-bed look, Cas’s smile was soft and sweet, barely there unless you looked close, but it lit up his face like nothing else. Cas loved Vonnegut, often volunteered through his church, hadn’t judged Dean on sight for driving a muscle car and blasting Metallica, and could deadpan snark like nobody’s business. He was also a killer martial artist and while it was all formal training as opposed to Dean’s bar-room brawl education, Dean had seen Cas take down an unruly customer twice his size and three times his weight.

Dean had ended up falling deeper in love with each soft smile he managed to earn, every slow-day discussion of Vonnegut or the Impala or their respective majors (Cas was majoring in theology with a minor in philosophy); anything, really.

And now, to make things worse, tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and the romantic in Dean really wanted to make a grand gesture, most likely embarrassing himself horribly in the process.

Assuming, of course, Cas wasn’t already dating someone. Cas hadn’t mentioned if he was seeing anyone, but Cas’s relationship status and how open he was to dating another man were things Dean really, really wanted to know before trying to ask Cas out.

Cas sighed, drawing Dean out of his thoughts. He looked up, realizing he’d been staring at the counter for the past ten minutes, and saw that Cas was now straightening up the Valentine’s Day decorations that hung on the walls and from the ceilings. He had a subtle slump in his shoulders and a downward curve to his mouth that Dean didn’t like. Dean moved out from behind the counter and over to Cas immediately.

"Need any help?" he asked as he drew up to Cas’s side. Cas jerked his head up, like he hadn’t heard Dean approach, and Dean frowned. "Just me, dude. What’s with you? You’ve been jumpy all day." Cas had messed up two drink orders and had forgotten a customer’s brownie in their take-away order; it wasn’t much, but for Cas, who hadn’t messed up in all the months Dean had worked here, each incident had been a major red flag.

"It’s nothing," Cas said evasively. Dean snorted.

"No offense, but I’m not an idiot," he said. Cas shot him an annoyed glance, then sighed and looked away again.

"I don’t suppose I could convince you to drop it?"

"Nope."

Cas touched one of the large, construction paper hearts that decorated the window.

"Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day," Cas said. Dean waited. When no more was forthcoming, he spoke up.

"And? It happens every year."

"Yes, but  _this_  year-” Cas glanced at Dean and cut himself off, expression aggravated again. “I don’t have a Valentine this year either.”

"What, there aren’t any cute girls in the Theology department?" Dean asked. Cas smiled thinly.

"I suppose, if you’re looking for girls," he said dismissively. Something about the way he said it sent a feeling of cautious hope through Dean. He kept his gaze fixed out the window, attempting to be casual.

"Any cute guys?"

Cas looked at him sharply. Dean could feel Cas’s eyes roaming over his face. His heart hammered in his chest.

"Is it a problem?" Cas asked lowly. Dean could feel hope swelling in his chest, delight sending pure energy along his veins. It was all he could do to keep standing still and not fist pump the air.

"It’s fine," he managed to say, but his voice was strained. Cas’s expression darkened, the faintest hint of hurt coloring those blue eyes.

"If it’s a problem, you can ask to be transferred to a different-"

"Cas," Dean interrupted, turning towards him. Cas’s expression was stone cold and guarded, and Dean winced inwardly. "Trust me, it’s fine. I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy, in and out of bed."

"Oh." There was a faint dusting of pink across Cas’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "I see."

Was it just Dean, or did Castiel’s pupils just dilate? Was his breathing a little quicker, or was that just Dean’s? The moment had been charged, somehow, tension springing up between them like something locking into place.

Unless Dean was projecting which, to be fair, was totally possible. Dean coughed.

"I should… ah, yeah," he said awkwardly, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. "Dishes."

Cas nodded slowly - was that disappointment?

"Of course. I’ll finish up out here."

Dean turned and walked slowly away from Cas, thoughts whirring. The romantic in him was really, really pushing for a grand gesture, but-

But what?

The worst that could happen was Cas saying ‘no’, and while the thought was pretty damn terrifying… Dean didn’t think he would.

He reached the kitchen and leaped into action, body moving on autopilot to fix a chai tea. It wasn’t a complicated drink, but it was Cas’s favorite. Dean also snagged a chocolate brownie and a knife to cut it into a crude heart.

Cheesy, but hell, maybe Cas liked cheesy.

He set the brownie on a plate and, grabbing the drink in one hand and the plate in the other, he headed back to the front with his heart in his throat.

"Cas?" he said, walking over to the serving counter. "Can you come here for a minute?"

Cas looked up from where he had been refilling the napkin dispenser.

"What is it?" Cas asked, walking over. Dean gestured to the drink and plate he had set down. Cas looked, blinked, and then his mouth fell open just the tiniest bit. "Dean…"

"Be my Valentine?" Dean asked. Cas looked at him.

The next thing Dean knew, there were hands fisted in the front of his apron, practically hauling him over the counter so his lips could meet Castiel’s in the most enthusiastic ‘yes’ Dean had ever received.

(However, the kiss wasn’t half as enthusiastic as the one Cas gave him two years later, on their wedding day.)


	21. Countdown Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set is incomplete.
> 
> Drabbles are set in S7, one a day until Cas came back
> 
> Drabbles do NOT form a linear or coherent story
> 
> WARNING: one of the fics contains Zachariah attempting to pimp out underage!Cas (prompt 12)

**Twenty**

Dean sat on the edge of his mattress, hands clasped but between his knees rather than at his nose.

"Where are you, man…" he whispered again. The question felt like it was rubbing his throat raw, cutting deeper into his vocal cords every time he asked. "You said you’d always come when I call… I’m calling now."

He was calling now, as he had every night for weeks. Dean had gotten too used to praying nightly in Purgatory and the habit was one he neither needed nor wanted to break. Some nights, he almost thought he heard Cas fly in, but whenever he looked around, the room was always empty.

The room was empty, his bed was empty, the wall he’d left for another person to decorate was empty… hell, even the bunker felt empty sometimes. Like it was not quite full, still missing an integral piece.

"Cas, please…"

_Come home._

 

**Nineteen**

"And this… is your room," Dean said proudly, throwing open the door to the last stop on what he had dubbed the ‘grand tour of the Batcave’.

Cas took two steps into the room before he really registered what Dean had said. He turned back to face the hunter.

"My room?" he said softly. Dean nodded, grin mellowing.

"Yeah. Why’d you think I wanted to give you the tour? Just to show you around mine and Sam’s brand new digs?" Dean cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "You need to be able to find your way around your own damn home."

Castiel’s chest, despite the heavy bandages to hold his broken ribs and cover the deep wounds that ran the length of his back, felt lighter. He smiled and looked around his room, taking in the sparsely-filled bookcase, the bed with clean white sheets, and the sole photograph on the wall. It was of a bumblebee collecting nectar from a brightly colored flower.

"I love it, Dean."

 

**Eighteen**

The crypt was ancient. Thick layers of dust and cobwebs covered the weathered stone. Nothing had set foot in here for centuries upon centuries, leaving both the crypt and the angel tablet undisturbed.

Dean kept glancing uneasily around the darkened space as he approached the altar, as though he expected something to leap from the shadows and attack him. Castiel had to admit to a similar sense of foreboding, though he wasn’t sure why. There was nothing living within the crypt and they’d defeated the Gatekeeper.

"So…" Dean said, voice echoing off the walls as he gingerly reached for the tablet. He slid his fingers beneath one edge of the smooth stone and he slowly began to lift.

Nothing happened.

Dean cradled the thing as though it were a human child, glancing warily around.

The crypt was silent and still.

"Guess that’s it," Dean said, relaxing. He turned to Castiel and lifted the tablet as though to show him. "It’s nice when things go  _easy_ , for once.”

Castiel wanted to smile back, but the sense of foreboding had not dissipated. Rather, it had suddenly spiked, and he opened his mouth to warn Dean-

 _"Excellent,"_ a strange but oddly familiar voice said in his ear. “ _Kill him and bring me the tablet.”_

Before Cas knew what was happening, his sword was in his hand and he was advancing on Dean. He couldn’t stop his legs.

"Cas?" Dean said, stepping back, eyes on the blade.

“ _Give me the tablet,”_  Castiel heard himself say, echoing the voice in his ears. 

He couldn’t stop.

**dean, run**

**please**

_**please** _

 

**Seventeen**

Dean woke up slowly to the growl of his stomach. He groaned and stretched, reaching blindly for the warm body that was supposed to be in bed with him.

When his groping fingers found the edge of the mattress before they found flesh, Dean pried open an eye and frowned (too tired to scowl properly just yet) at the disturbed but unoccupied sheets on the other side of the bed.

He heard the door opening and craned his neck, half-pushing himself up so he could turn enough to see, and his frown instantly melted away.

Cas was standing in the doorway, wearing the boxers he’d slept in last night and Dean’s Tshirt from yesterday. He’d gotten smudges of flour on the shirt and some on his cheek, but that was easily explained by the tray he carried. It was laden with pancakes and a helping of bacon, with a tall glass of orange juice and small bowl filled with syrup.

"I brought you breakfast," Cas said, nudging the door shut behind him and then walking over to the bed. Dean turned over fully and sat up, grinning lazily as Cas slid onto the mattress next to Dean.

Ignoring the food for a moment, Dean reached out to pull Cas into a brief kiss.

"Good morning," Dean said, grinning against Castiel’s mouth. He felt the former angel’s lips quirk in response.

"Good morning, beloved."

 

**Sixteen**

Dean ached. His body felt like one big bruise and there was blood from the corner of his mouth from where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek.

What hurt worst, though, was the look on Castiel’s face just before he disappeared.

Footsteps approached the room, pace speeding as they neared, and Dean pushed himself up to a sitting position with a groan. Sam burst into the dusty crypt. His eyes immediately landed on the older Winchester.

"Dean!" he said worriedly, offering a hand to help him up. Dean waved him off but winced as he stood. "What the hell happened?"

The room was destroyed, furniture overturned, a dent in the wall… and Dean knew he must look a mess. He looked at Sam and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"Something’s wrong with Cas. I don’t know what, but  _something’s_  pulling the strings.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open.

"You’re saying  _Cas_  did this?”

Dean nodded. Sam’s expression tightened with worry.

"We’ll get him back, Dean."

Dean nodded again, eyes going cold.

"Yes, we  _will._ _”_

 

 

**Fifteen**

It was really a perfect plan. Dean didn’t see how it could go wrong.

If glasses scorched in holy fire could let him see hellhounds, why not an angel’s wings?

Dean almost rubbed his hands together in fiendish glee when he realized that seeing Cas’s wings could be as simple as putting on the glasses and calling Cas. He’d been dying to see them ever since the barn, and things between them had changed significantly since then.

With no reason to hesitate, he got his glasses from the trunk of the Impala and went to his bedroom in the bunker to pray. They’d had to alter the wards slightly to allow Cas through, but it was well worth it.

"Hey, Cas, I want to talk to you about something, so get your feathery ass down here!" Dean said playfully. He waited.

There was a soft swish of wings behind him and he turned, heart leaping in anticipation-

His breath caught in his throat, heart stopping cold.

"Dean?" Cas said, tilting his head the way he always did when he was curious about something. Dean couldn’t answer, nausea sinking into the pit of his stomach.

He could see Castiel’s wings.

They were huge, dwarfing Cas with their sheer size. The longest feathers looked to be the size of Dean’s forearm, soft and smooth, but that wasn’t what caused the lump in Dean’s throat.

Thick tracts of scar tissue crisscrossed what he could see of the wings. Large patches of feathers were missing, revealing painful-looking burns, or clearly growing back in. One of the wings had been broken and not set properly, lending an odd curve to the bone.

"Why are you wearing glasses?"

Dean’s hand flew to his face and he yanked them off, shoving them in his shirt pocket.

"I…. uh, reading," he said. Cas nodded slowly, uncertain whether or not to believe him.

"What did you want to talk about?" Cas asked.

"You know… I forgot," Dean lied.

 

**Fourteen**

There’s a ruckus in the hall.

There’s never been a ruckus before, not a single one in all of Time. There really shouldn’t be one now, and Sachiel feels his first frisson of fear.

A human - a  _human!_ \- bursts through the pristine doors, a primitive weapon in his hand that nonetheless fills Sachiel with unimaginable dread.

Human souls shouldn’t be able to find this place, must less storm the doors. Even angels do not dare to set foot here unless invited by Her.

And if humans aren’t supposed to be here,  _that weapon_  most certainly should not be. Sachiel can smell the blood of Eve’s children on it, can feel the malice radiating from the sharpened stone even beneath the murderous rage emanating from the human wielding it.

Sachiel is frozen in place, paralyzed by shock and something he doesn’t want to admit is fear as the human marches up to the desk and seizes the front of Sachiel’s suit. Sachiel is dragged half over the counter, nose to nose with the intruder. The weapon the human holds is leveled at his throat, and then the human speaks.

“ _Where’s my angel?_ ”

 

 **Thirteen**  (special thanks to ilovehowyouletmefall for the prompt!)

One of the greatest discoveries Dean had made in the Men of Letters bunker was the basement. As soon as he saw the antique pool table, he’d known just what to do.

"It’s simple, Cas," Dean said. His hands moved with the ease of long practice to rack up the balls, alternating stripes and solids. Cas watched attentively as Dean carefully lifted the rack, leaving the balls in a perfect triangle.

Dean set the rack aside, picked up his cue, and walked to the other side of the table where the cue ball waited. He checked the top of his cue and frowned slightly. He grabbed the cube of chalk, rubbed it over the tip of his stick, then checked again. 

"You hit the white one, like so-" he said, bending over the table to line up his shot. He was aware of Cas’s eyes on him, resting heavy just between his shoulderblades. He took a deep breath and struck.

The balls broke perfectly, spreading across the far end of the table. One of the balls dropped into a corner pocket and Dean grinned.

"Looks like I’m stripes. That means you want to get the solid colored balls into the pockets, but not the eight ball or the cue. With me so far?"

Castiel studied the table and nodded seriously.

"The game seems simple enough," he said, moving away from the wall he had been leaning against to take his place at the table. He bent, lining up his cue, then made an annoyed expression as the back of his stick hit his coat. In the time it took Dean to blink, the coat and suit jacket had been banished to the chairs on the other side of the room and Cas’s shirt sleeves had rolled up to expose his forearms.

Dean found his gaze riveted to the exposed skin, mouth going dry. And then Cas bent over.

Dean wanted to shout ‘no fair!’, but he knew Cas had no idea what the hell he was doing to Dean.

Ooh, this had been a  _bad_  idea.

 

 **Twelve**  (prompt from Anonymous: AU where underage prostitute!Castiel is rescued from pimp!Zachariah by a very pissed-off Dean.)

"-and you are going to do what the customer wants, do you understand me?"

The words caught Dean’s ear as he walked by the entrance to an alleyway in a rather dangerous part of the city. (Well, dangerous for most people. Dean never had to worry.)

Dean looked, immediately spotting two figures halfway down the alley. One was on the chubby side, the kind of weight you pick up with age, and the other was shorter and more slender, but Dean wouldn’t call the kid skinny. He had an athlete’s body, with muscles like wires rather than cords.

"No."

The older one grabbed the kid by the neck and shoved him hard into the wall. The kid choked, fingers digging into the other man’s wrist, but the old guy was strong.

"Listen you little brat, they paid good money for you. If they want your mouth, you will give it to them. If they want your ass-"

Dean had had enough. He was stomping down the alley without a second though, fury pumping through his veins as the older man continued to list off the kid’s supposed ‘duties’.

"Hey!" he shouted. The old guy looked up just in time to catch a faceful of Dean’s fist. He stumbled backwards, holding his (probably broken) bloody nose. The kid wheezed, one hand at his bruised neck and the other drawing back.

The kid punched the old guy square across the face, knocking him down.

"Asshole," the kid spat. The old guy glared, scrambling backwards (probably getting alley grime all over his suit, Dean thought with chilly satisfaction) and to his feet.

"Scram," Dean said, mustering up his coldest dead-eyed stare. The old man looked about to protest, expression purple with rage, but then Dean reached for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

The man turned white and ran. The kid watched him go, still glaring, then took a deep breath and looked at Dean.

"Thank you," he said formally. "Though I could have handled it."

Seeing the punch the kid had laid across the jaw of his would-be pimp, Dean didn’t doubt it.

"I’m Castiel," the kid said, extending his hand. Dean took it.

"Dean Winchester."

 

 **Eleven**  

His fist meets the skin of his opponent’s cheek, breaking it.

_No._

His opponent stumbles back, more from shock, it seems, than pain. Strange. He had not meant to hold back.

_No, please._

"Cas, wh-"

He draws his fist back and punches again. The human goes down like a-

A human that had been punched. No need to romanticize it.

_Anything but this!_

He isn’t sure how the human found this place, but the tablet must be protected at all costs.

He summons his blade and reaches down to pull the human up by his shirt. He’ll grant the trespasser a quick death; his Father is merciful, and so must he be.

Strange. His hand is shaking.

_Naomi, please! Not Dean._

He  **must**  strike.

The human stares up at him, cheek and mouth bloody. There is an emotion here, but he doesn’t know what it is.

He  _can’t_  strike.

He  **must**  strike.

His hand shakes.

_Not Dean, please… please._

"Cas," the human says, lifting a hand to grab at his wrist.

Foolish. His hand will not be moved. The human makes a pathetic attempt, squeezing the wrist too gently to do any sort of damage.

"Cas, come on, man. This isn’t you, I know it."

His hand shakes and he cannot strike.

_Dean, I’m trying. Naomi, please!_

**but he must**

**to protect the tablet**

**to serve Heaven**

His hand tightens, wrist steady.

_DEAN!_

"Cas!"

He brings the blade down.

 

 **Ten**  (special thanks to sourastherain for the prompt!)

Cas stared at the collection of two-feet-long interlocking sticks in his hand, then at the heap of supposedly waterproof material at his feet.

They’d gotten the tent secondhand and it hadn’t come with any instructions, but Cas had been around since the first mud huts were assembled. He’d seen humanity progress from the cave to the skyscraper. He’d been there for the birth of architecture. Surely he could manage a single tent.

"So," Dean said, setting down a duffel bag next to the fire pit. It clanked, heavy with the weapons they’d brought. There had been several attacks on campers the past several weeks, always late at night; Garth had suspected a Jersey Devil, but the only way to hunt the damn thing would be to stay for a few nights in the woods themselves, hence the tent. "Sam’s gone to town for supplies. I’ll show you how to put up the tent and then-"

"I’m not a child, Dean," Cas said with a hint of irritation. Ever since he’d Fallen, Dean had insisted on coddling him. This was the first hunt he’d actually been  _permitted_  to come along on and Cas was determined to show that he was just as capable a hunter as any Winchester. “You can go get firewood. I’ll handle this.”

Dean looked from the sticks in Cas’s hand to the lump of a tent.

"Cas-" Dean started. Cas shot him an annoyed glare and Dean held up his hands. "Ok, fine. I’ll be back."

Cas watched him go, then began assembling the sticks into one long pole. There were other poles too, more than Cas strictly knew what to do with, but he was confident he could figure it out.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Cas stared in frustration at the lump of material, looking for the little sleeve to slide the pole through. After some trial and error, he’d finally figured out that to actually make the tent stand up, he had to push the poles through the sleeves and then hook them to the little metal pegs at the tent’s corners. That didn’t mean that it was /easy/ by any means - the poles would slip off one peg as he tried to secure the other side, or the interlocking parts would come loose, or he’d use the short pole when he should have used the long one… He almost wished for a second set of hands, just to hold everything in place so he could finish assembling it.

He was so distracted by mentally cursing tents that he didn’t hear Dean come back, arms full of twigs and small logs.

"Need some help?" Dean asked. There was amusement there, but no mocking, and Cas nodded regretfully.

"Just hold that side down," he said heavily. Dean chuckled and dropped the firewood in the pit.

 

Nine (based off of [this post](http://nyokala.tumblr.com/post/45319802058/is-it-weird-that-i-just-want-cas-to-rub-his-fuzzy) by nyokala!)

"Cas, stop it," Dean groused, feeling the tips of his ears turn bright red as Cas nuzzled further into his stomach. Cas’s stubble was scratchy and tickled the soft flesh, which only served to make Dean increasingly aware of the slice of apple pie on the plate in his hands and all the jogging he hadn’t been doing for weeks. He wasn’t fat, but living in the BatCave with access to his own kitchen (and the discovery that Cas could make a mean pie), had given him a couple of extra pounds around his middle.

Cas, of course, didn’t seem to care.

"You’re beatiful like this," Cas murmured against his stomach, pressing wet kisses around Dean’s navel. Dean swallowed thickly, feeling heat run through his blood. "You’re relaxed here, you’re letting yourself settle in. It’s beautiful, Dean."

Cas nuzzled lower, his cheeks gently scraping against the bare outlines of the muscles hidden beneath the fat. The bristles tickled and Dean squirmed, only to still with a hitched breath when Cas began to tug at the buckle on Dean’s belt. Dean’s hands tightened on the plate, afraid of dropping it on Cas’s head.

"Cas," he said, voice hoarse, when Cas got his pants opened. He lifted himself off the couch at Cas’s gentle insistence, just enough for Cas to tug his jeans down his thighs.

"I love you," Cas said, serious and without shame. Dean’s heart skipped like it always did when Cas said it, tripping over itself in his chest and wrapping around those three little words greedily. Cas nuzzled along Dean’s thighs, laving his tongue over the slight stubble burn to soothe it. Dean groaned and arched slightly, trying to encourage Cas to move up and stop teasing him.

Cas chuckled and moved back up to kiss at Dean’s stomach again.

"Patience," he chided. He dipped his tongue into Dean’s bellybutton. Dean moaned, hips giving a lazy roll upwards.

"Your body is magnificent, Dean," Cas said, voice husky as he drew his lips over the lowest of Dean’s ribs. His hand skimmed over Dean’s side. "So strong, but soft. You’ve made us a nest and now you’re letting yourself become accustomed to it, ‘putting down your roots’…"

Cas gently nipped at the skin as he worked his way down once more, stubble sliding roughly over Dean’s skin and sending an entirely different kind of tickle through him now. Dean set his pie on the unoccupied portion of the couch, knowing that he’d drop it if he tried to hang onto it much longer, and buried a hand in Cas’s hair as the angel began kissing Dean’s erection through his boxers.

God, he loved nesting.

 

**Eight**

Dean’s eyes shot open and he gasped, gratefully drawing in oxygen as his lungs burned. He ached all over, phantom pain from bruises and cuts that no longer existed. His abdomen still hurt, but while the pain was sharp the blade was gone. Only the blood remained to stain the lower half of his shirt.

Castiel’s face was large above him, so close Dean could make out the tiniest specks of color in his eyes.

Dean jerked back, ready to defend himself, but he realized his mistake when he saw Cas’s face crumple. Whatever mojo had been pulling Cas’s strings was gone, at least for now. He sat up as Cas pulled away, grabbing at the angel’s coat.

"Cas, what happened?" he asked. Cas stilled, looking down at Dean’s hand as though he hadn’t expected such a gentle touch, the expression on his face  _broken_.

"I’m sorry, Dean," he said.

"Cas-"

"I don’t have much time," Cas interrupted, eyes widening as though listening to a sound only he could hear. His expression turned almost frantic and since ‘almost’ was typically the most emotion he displayed, Dean felt his own heart stop cold. "Dean, I’m sorry. I wasn’t myself, I… I couldn’t stop her."

It sounded like Cas was only just realizing this himself, voice fading into self-loathing.

"Who, Cas?" Dean asked, tightening his grip on the sleeve of the trenchcoat. "We’re coming for you, we’ll get you out, but you need to tell me  _who_.”

"Naomi," Cas said, then he abruptly bent double with a short cry of pain. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, heart pounding in his ears, but then Cas was pushing him away. "You need to go,  _now_.”

"Cas-"

"Dean,  _please go_.”

Dean wasn’t sure if it was the tone or the please that got him to his feet, but he did as he was told even as every protective instinct screamed at him to stay and fight whatever it was that was causing Cas to writhe on the floor.

He was beginning to glow.

Dean’s eyes widened and he made to kneel back down, but Cas swung out at him; a warning shot, wide and easy to dodge, and Dean scrambled back. There was a noise like a high-pitched whine echoing through the crypt, the ancient stones shaking as Cas’s body was obscured by the glow.

"We’ll find you," Dean shouted. The noise intensified to an earsplitting shriek and then, abruptly, it was over.

Cas was gone.

 

 **Seven**  (thanks to Anon for the prompt: feather!)

Dean waited until Sam was gone and then, heart still tripping over itself from the near-discovery, drew a thin cardboard sleeve out of a hidden pocket in his jacket. It had been difficult to remember not to bend too much, lest he destroy both the sleeve and the precious contents.

He carefully pressed on the edges of the sleeve to open it, hand waiting beneath to catch the long black feather as it fell. He smiled softly and tossed the cardboard aside so he could run his fingertips over the soft bristles, checking over the feather to make absolutely certain that it hadn’t gotten damaged.

Cas had told him that angel feathers were sturdier than most steel beams, so really Dean had no need to fear ruining it, but Dean couldn’t help it. The feather looked just like any other feather and felt just like any other feather, delicate and soft and warm against his back on those mornings Cas could stay-

Dean coughed, chest warming at the memories of long nights followed by too-few mornings wrapped in gorgeous black feathers. He knew Cas was busy, knew the guy had a job that didn’t involve watching over one Dean Winchester, but damn if it didn’t sting some mornings when he woke up alone.

At least he knew that Cas, if he could, would choose to stay beside him every night. Cas always looked so regretful whenever he explained that he couldn’t stay, so unhappy when their afterglow was interrupted by some urgent call or another from Upstairs.

 _Soon_ , Dean thought, settling the feather on his desk next to the picture of him and his mom. Cas had promised him that Heaven would calm down soon and then Cas would be free to spend every night in their ‘nest’.

Dean had protested that he wasn’t a damn bird, but the term had grown on him. It had an air of permanence and stability that ‘shacking up’ lacked and while once upon a time ‘permanence and stability’ might have made Dean turn tail and run to the nearest bar for something fleeting and wild…

For Cas, Dean would have built a bed out of twigs and bit of scavenged fur if it meant he got to keep this.

 

 


	22. Wedding

Dean pushed Castiel down on the bed, following him down immediately to press kisses to his mouth, his jawline, his neck… any bit of skin his lips could reach was fair game. Cas returned the kisses with equal fervor, impatient hands already pulling at the buttons on Dean’s shirt. Dean drew back when he heard something rip.

"Careful," he said without any heat. The black tux he wore was a rental, as was the pale blue one Cas wore; both men had too many bad memories associated with white suits for either to want to wear one today, fuck tradition.

"Dean…" Cas said, grabbing Dean’s hips and pulling their bodies flush together. Dean moaned, his erection rubbing against an answering hardness in Castiel’s pants. "I don’t care about the deposit."

Dean was inclined to agree. He kissed Cas again, unable to help himself, tasting cake and champagne on his tongue. Castiel’s hands were busy with his shirt buttons again, so Dean decided to return the favor. He ended up tearing the last few buttons in his haste to get the shirt off. He could fix those before he returned the damn thing, but he needed Cas naked now.

Their clothes were carelessly dropped over the side of the bed as they came off, hands and mouths busy exploring already-familiar territory. Tonight, everything seemed new. Tonight, everything had a special thrill.

“Fuck, Cas… love you, love you so fucking much,” Dean said, pressing lubed fingers inside Cas’s body one by one. They’d skipped most of the foreplay, but they had two weeks ahead of them to do nothing but have sex and eat. Dean wanted to be inside Cas now, and if the way Cas was spreading his legs and grinding down on Dean’s fingers was any indication, Cas was just as desperate.

"I love you, Dean," Cas said, voice taking on a reverent note that never failed to send shivers down Dean’s spine. Dean kissed him as he joined their bodies, kept kissing him as their hips began to move in concert; the world’s oldest ‘dance’, and one they’d long ago mastered together.

Castiel’s legs were wrapped around Dean’s waist, his hands around Dean’s shoulders. The ring he wore dug into Dean’s skin and the newness of the sensation sent a possessive thrill through Dean. He was hypersensitive of his own ring as he cupped Castiel’s cheek, tilting his head to change the angle of their kiss.

Nothing had changed between them today; nothing, except now they had tangible evidence of what they had always known.

What they had always felt.

And in the morning, Dean would wake up spooned behind his husband and order room service for the both of them. They’d stay in bed all day, or maybe they’d go out to a museum, or a movie, do silly couple shit like that. Dean didn’t care (and Sam, who had been Dean’s best man, had given explicit instructions not to call him until the honeymoon was over, then hugged Dean and wished him the best).

All he wanted was in his arms right now and if he got to spend the rest of his life with Castiel by his side and his brother a phone call away… he couldn’t think of a better life than that.


	23. Wed Me

Dean shifted from foot to foot and discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his suit pants. Sam, who was standing next to him, shot him a reassuring grin.

Dean quirked his lips upward, but it came out as more of a grimace than a smile. His heart was pounding, his mouth felt dry, and he wouldn’t be surprised if his knees were trembling just a little.

It figured that he, the human who’d sliced his way through Purgatory without batting an eye, would be terrified at something as simple as a wedding.

But it’s not just a wedding, he thought. It was his wedding and the other groom would be walking through the doors any second now-

Any second… if he was coming. If Cas hadn’t had second thoughts, if he hadn’t woken up in their bed this morning and realized that he was going to be tying himself to Dean for the rest of their mortal lives (and if Dean had any say, their afterlives).

Cas had certainly seemed enthusiastic about the prospect when Dean had gotten down on one knee and held out his old ring. Dean had frequently caught him (the most recent being three days ago) staring at the ring on his hand in fascination and wonder, like he couldn’t believe he was so blessed.

Dean knew the feeling.

Organ music began to play and he tore himself out of his thoughts. He stared at the church doors, willing them to open.

They did, and Dean’s breath caught.

He and Cas had agreed; no flower girls, no big wedding party, so it was just Cas walking down the aisle. Dean had seen the suit already, since he was the one that had paid to rent their tuxes, but he had never seen Cas in it.

The tux was a pale blue, just a shade or two lighter than Castiel’s eyes and it brought them out beautifully. Cas was gorgeous; clean-shaven for once, hair teased into a glorious tousle that made Dean long to pull Cas back into bed and keep him there for hours.

He kept coming back to his husband-to-be’s eyes. Their color had always been striking and they had always stared straight into him. Not through, never through, but into in the most intimate of ways. The suit, the church, and the reason they were here now, today, seemed to amplify their stare.

Dean had never felt more singled out or more like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Judging from the expression on Cas’s face and the way he was focused on no one but Dean, the feeling was mutual.

As Cas took his place at Dean’s side, Dean felt himself finally - finally - relax.


	24. Zip Me

Dean closed the door quietly, just in case Cas had waited up for them. The trio took turns staying behind in the bunker, just so someone was always present if another hunter called in with a question only the Men of Letters library could answer.

Sam gave him a tired smile, a nod, and headed off in the direction of his room. The hunt had been a routine salt and burn, but the ghost had gotten the drop on Sam and flung him into a nearby tree after they dug her up. Sam’s ribs were bruised, but thankfully nothing had broken. They didn’t have angel healing on tap anymore.

Not that Dean would trade this for the world.

As he had suspected, Cas had tried waiting up for them. The former angel was curled up on the couch in his secondhand jeans and a Tshirt, fast asleep. Dean smiled softly and set his duffel bag down. He could retrieve it in the morning.

"Come on, you big baby," he whispered, careful not to wake Cas up as he slid an arm under his shoulders and his knees and lifted him up. Cas stirred but didn’t wake, leaning into Dean’s warmth with a contented sound.

Dean hummed quietly as he carried Cas down the hall to their room. The door was ajar, so all he had to do was nudge it with his foot until he could slip inside and kick it gently shut behind them. He hardly wanted the slam to wake Cas.

Dean set Cas down on his side of the bed. The former angel still didn’t wake, so Dean set about getting him changed into proper sleeping attire. Sleeping in jeans, while practical when on a hunt, wasn’t particularly comfortable.

Dena grabbed Cas’s favorite pajamas from where Cas had left them on the floor. They were black and gray plaid flannel, soft from years of use; they had been Dean’s first, and it always gave him a little possessive thrill when he saw Cas in them.

He tugged off Cas’s socks and then at the button on his jeans. Cas, more asleep than awake, lifted his hips when Dean pressed on the small of his back and allowed Dean to pull off the denim and replace it with flannel.

Dean eyed the Tshirt, then figured it could stay. He shucked his own outer layers and his jeans and crawled into bed next to Cas. Cas instantly invaded his space, at long last blinking into some state of awareness when his arms were wrapped around Dean and one of his legs had insinuated itself between Dean’s thighs.

"Dean?" he said, voice thick with sleep. Dean chuckled at the sight of half-lidded blue eyes looking up at him.

"Yeah," he said quietly, wanting to let Cas fall back asleep rather than draw him into a conversation. That could wait for the morning.

Cas let his eyes fall shut again and he leaned in to press his mouth against Dean’s. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but close.

“‘elcome home,” Cas murmured, nuzzling his face into Dean’s neck and already drifting off again.

Dean kissed Cas’s forehead and shut his eyes.

"I’m back," he whispered, then followed his angel into sleep.

 


	25. Amuse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Sam!

Sam found Cas in the library sorting through a dusty stack of books. At least, that’s what it looked like. Cas would pick up a book, skim the contents, and set it on one of the five slowly-growing stacks covering the rest of the table, but Sam could he was placing the books randomly at best and trying to look busy.

They had sorted those books yesterday.

"Cas?" he said. Cas looked up, startled, and Sam winced inwardly. Cas still wasn’t that easy to sneak up on, even without his powers, so the fact that Sam had managed it so easily…

"Hello, Sam," Cas said. He set down the book he’d been paging through. "I thought I’d continue organizing the library."

"We went over those already," Sam said gently. Cas looked down.

"In that case, I’ll put them on the shelf," he said. He began gathering the books back up into one pile, in what Sam assumed was the order they’d come off the stack. Sam walked over and silently separated the massive tower into two more manageable piles.

"What happened?" Sam asked. Cas stilled and went quiet. Sam was about to apologize and back off, but then Cas spoke, so quietly Sam almost couldn’t hear.

"I told him."

Sam stared, stunned. Cas kept his head bowed.

"It didn’t go well?" Sam guessed, barely able to get the words out through his shock.

"He said he needed time to ‘think it over’," Cas said flatly. "He went for a drive and said something about finding a bar."

Sam did wince at that. Dean almost never went out to drink nowadays and when he did, it was usually more for the bar patrons than the alcohol. If Dean was out all night and came home smelling like perfume, Sam might have to kill him. (Well, not kill, but Sam was definitely not above throwing itching powder in his sheets and fucking up the water heater that served Dean’s bathroom. And that was just for starters.)

"Dean cares about you. A lot," Sam said. Cas smiled wryly.

"He’s called me his best friend before."

Sam had nothing to say. He knew Dean cared about Cas as ‘more than a friend’, even if it seemed Dean wasn’t ready to admit to it. He bit his lip to keep the words pinned down.

"Shall we?" Cas said, motioning to the books. As he moved to grab a stack, Sam heard footsteps in the hall.

"Cas?" Dean’s voice. Cas didn’t even have time to answer before Dean stuck his head in the library. Dean immediately spotted the former angel and strode forward, purpose dogging every step. It was like he didn’t even register that Sam was there, he was so zeroed in on Cas.

Sam caught the faintest whiff of whiskey as Dean passed him. It belatedly occurred to him to wonder if he should stop Dean; Cas seemed too surprised to move and Sam had no idea if Dean was going to take a swing at Cas or not.

Dean’s hand shot up and Sam reached to grab his wrist and divert the blow, but he was too far away.

And, as it turned out, wrong.

Dean grabbed the back of Castiel’s neck and pulled him into the most passionate kiss Sam had ever seen two people share. It was the type of kiss that came at the climax of romance movies, emotional and- oh God, was that tongue?

"I’msohappyforyouboth," Sam choked out, spinning on his heel and running out of the room.


	26. Nurse Me

"You’re an  _idiot_ ,” Dean seethed. Despite his tone, his hands were careful as they wrapped the bandage around the gauze that covered Castiel’s palm. “I could have handled it. You almost got yourself  _killed_.”

His chest still hadn’t warmed from the deep freeze it had undergone when Cas had jumped in front of him to take the shapeshifter’s knife. Dean had been backed up against a wall, unable to move as the knife had come down.

The Cas, like the damn fool he was, had jumped in and caught the knife by the blade less than an inch from his chest. His Tshirt had a small rip in it just over his heart and Dean’s blood had run cold  _again_  when he noticed.

"You’re not an angel anymore," Dean snapped, tying off the bandage. He dug in the first aid kid for smaller band-aid for Cas’s fingers. His hand had gotten pretty badly torn up.

"I’m fine, Dean," Cas said. He reached out and laid his partially bandaged hand on Dean’s wrist. It was only then that Dean noticed his hands were shaking. "And if I hadn’t stepped in, you /would/ have died."

There was a trace of steel in Cas’s voice now. Dean bit his lip on the retort that dying was  _acceptable_ , a natural consequence of hunting (and life as a human) and that was  _fine_ , just fine by him if it meant that he was protecting someone. Sam. Cas. Whatever family they were helping that week.

Cas must have seen the thought in Dean’s expression. His eyes narrowed further and he brought his undamaged hand up to cup Dean’s cheek. He forced Dean to look up.

"I love you," he said firmly, like the words were a weapon against Dean’s self-doubt. Cas’s gaze softened. "I can’t lose you, Dean. It would destroy me."

"Loving me already did," Dean replied hoarsely, turning Cas’s hand over and touching the top of the bandage gently. The wounds are deep, they bled and they’d scar. Cas’s body wasn’t covered in scars yet, his flesh still too new to mortality for him to have picked up many, but there were two long, thin marks down his back that stayed red and angry no matter how long it had been since Cas had Fallen. Fallen… because of Dean.

"I don’t regret it," Cas said, entwining their fingers. "It never destroyed me, Dean. It made me human. It gave me a life to share with you."

"Cas-"

Cas pulled him into a kiss. The kiss was gentle and soft and Dean let himself relax into it, squeezing Cas’s injured hand just enough for Cas to feel it but not enough to hurt.

"I love you," Cas murmured against his lips. Dean kissed him again, desperation seeping into the contact.

He’d almost lost Cas today. He could lose Cas tomorrow. Cas was human now and fragile, though stubborn as ever and unwilling to stay behind just because he no longer had his angelic invulnerability.

"Love you," Dean whispered into the kiss.

_Don’t leave me._


	27. NSFW Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW drabbles written for an askbox game on tumblr!

Fuck Machines

“You look so good like this, Cas,” Dean groaned, stroking himself slowly as he turned up the speed on the machine. He didn’t want to come just yet, but he was also having far too much fun with their newest toy to stop.

Cas’s breathing hitched and he gave a soft, aborted cry of Dean’s name as the toy buried inside him began thrusting faster. Cas pulled at his knees, trying to spread them even wider, but he was already holding himself as open as he could go.

“ _Dean_ …” Cas said urgently. “I _’_ m going to-“

Dean turned the dial again and Cas’s words were lost in another choked moan. Dean left the machine and crawled up to stretch along Castiel’s side.

“Don’t come yet,” he said, nipping a line up Cas’s neck. Cas shivered, tilting his head to grant Dean access. “Gotta wait for me, sweetheart.”

Dean slid his hand over Cas’s abdomen, feeling the muscles jump as the pleasure built in Castiel’s body. He usually missed seeing this, missed seeing how Cas looked when he was seconds away from coming because Dean was usually too close to think straight. He caught glimpses, but they hadn’t prepared him for how gorgeous his angel looked when he was being fucked.

 

Blood

Dean privately vowed never to rag on Sam about the demon blood ever again. If it was half as good an angel blood, Dean could see how Sam had gotten hopelessly addicted to it.

It had happened by accident. Well, mostly accident, if Dean was being completely honest with himself.

Cas’s Grace had been massively depleted after a battle and his wounds weren’t bad, so he’d left them to heal overnight while he curled up in their bed. Dean had spooned up behind him and pressed his lips to one of the still-healing cuts to ‘kiss it better’.

The blood had tingled against his lips and, when he’d tongued at the cut for more, it had slid down his throat like fine whiskey. Cas had gasped, but more in surprise than in pain, and the rest was history.

Cas had told Dean that they could stop any time. Cas would wean Dean off his blood if he sensed it was changing Dean like demon’s blood had altered Sam, but so far there had been no side effects except for increased speed, strength, and a bonus healing factor.

Dean could have cared less about all the pluses.  _This_  is what he liked best.

Cas was pinned beneath him. The angel was staring up at Dean, eyes full of desire and trust despite the blade in Dean’s hand.

Castiel’s own angel blade, and he’d handed it over to Dean willingly.

Dean drew the sharp tip lightly over Cas’s right pectoral. Years of torture had taught him exactly where to cut to make it hurt, where to cut to make his victim bleed out, and how to cut to inflict the worst damage. It had also taught him how  _not_  to do those things and Castiel’s only response to the shallow wound was to gasp. Any pain he felt was soothed away in seconds by Dean’s tongue.

 

Wings

Cas had never taken particular pride in the appearance of his wings. They were functional, looked little different from those of his brothers and sisters, and were strong as any warrior’s should be. They were simply his wings.

He had never found them beautiful until, at Dean’s urging, he had straddled Dean’s waist and manifested them for Dean to see.

Dean’s expression had been filled with naked awe and he’d lifted his hand from the bed slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

“Go ahead,” Cas said, curling one wing forward to brush the longest feathers against Dean’s fingertips.

Dean drew his fingers through the feathers. The sensation sent a shiver up Castiel’s spine; nothing had ever touched his wings, not like this. Manifesting them was considered dangerous. They could be hurt in this form. They could be broken and leave him stranded, but this was  _Dean_. Dean’s hands were gentle and cautious as they touched him, nails scratching lightly against the down where the wings burst through his vessel’s back, and Cas felt no fear.

“They’re gorgeous,” Dean said hoarsely. Cas kissed him.


	28. Petnames

Dean’s eyes drifted open and he blinked for a moment, eyelids heavy, before rolling over to check the time. It was a little past ten o’clock.

He relaxed back onto the bed, groaning. He hadn’t meant to oversleep; when was the last time he’d slept in like this?

Then again, they  _had_  had a late night.

He rolled back to curl up with the warm body on the other side of the bed. He nosed against Castiel’s neck and placed dry, good-morning kisses against the nape.

"Babe, it’s time to get up."

Cas stirred but didn’t wake. He snuggled deeper into the blankets and back into Dean. Dean chuckled.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said, running a hand over Castiel’s arm. "Wakey wakey."

Cas stirred again, eyes sliding open. He half-turned so he could see Dean and level an early-morning glare at him.

"It’s too early," he said petulantly. Dean grinned and leaned up for a closed-mouth kiss.

"We’re supposed to leave at eleven for that vampire nest up in Michigan," Dean reminded him. Sam was probably waiting for them, though Dean didn’t wonder why Sam hadn’t come in to wake them up when it was clear that they were running late. They’d forgotten to lock the door (or Sam had forgotten to knock) a few too many times in the months that Dean and Cas had been sharing a room. Sam had said that he’d seen too much of Dean’s bare ass and far too much of Castiel’s body than could reasonably be expected of any little brother or close friend and he had sworn off entering their room for anything less than the end of the world.

Given their track record, it was something of a miracle he hadn’t needed to barge in since making said vow.

"What time izzit?" Cas asked.

"A little after ten."

Cas closed his eyes and turned fully to face Dean. He slung an arm over Dean’s hip and tucked his head under Dean’s chin.

"Five more minutes," Cas mumbled against Dean’s neck. Dean gave an affirmative hum and wrapped an arm around Cas to pull him closer. Castiel’s breathing evened out, though it was just irregular enough to let Dean know that he hadn’t fallen back asleep. Dean stroked a hand over his back, enjoying the feel of sleep-warmed skin under his palm.


	29. I Need You

Dean kissed Castiel, cupping the angel’s face and whispering those three words against his lips.

"I need you."

He needed Cas, he needed _this_ , and everything else was just details. He’d slice his way through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven all over again if it meant keeping Cas by his side. Dean didn’t know when Cas had managed it, but he’d become as necessary to Dean as air, as pie, as the Impala, as  _Sam_. Take any one of those things away and Dean felt incomplete.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas gasped as Dean slid inside him. His nails scraped at Dean’s back, his hands grabbed at Dean’s shoulders, but he didn’t seem to be in any pain so Dean kept going. Part of him hoped that Cas left scratches down his back, something tangible he could feel later. A mark to replace the handprint Cas had once left.

He was certainly going to leave enough marks of his own, inside and out of Cas’s body. It was only fair.

"I need you," he said again, kissing his way down Cas’s neck to bite and suck at the collarbone. "I need you, Cas."

Cas tugged at his head gently, urging him to come back up for a kiss. Dean did, only for Cas to break it with a loud moan when Dean began to move his hips.

Dean kept kissing him, dropping airy little kisses over Cas’s face as their bodies moved together. He kept whispering those three words, repeated them over and over until the sounds were meaningless and only the idea behind them hung in the air between them.

When Cas came, it was with a loud, surprised cry of Dean’s name.

"Dean!"

"I’ve got you." Dean kept rocking him through it, the rhythm of his hips stuttering when his own orgasm overwhelmed him. " _Cas_.”

When they curled up together, Dean behind Cas, both wiped clean and boneless, Dean pressed the words to the back of Castiel’s neck.

"I need you," he whispered.

_I love you._


	30. Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Despite what Sam probably thought, Dean was in no way a ‘kinky, clamps and feathers’ kind of guy. He wasn’t completely vanilla, but he’d figured that if the only sex he had for the rest of his life was conducted in missionary, he’d be a pretty happy dude.

Then Cas had brought his wings out.

The first time had been at Cas’s request, something about his wings being the only parts of his true form he could manifest safely. Apparently, touching Dean in his true form meant some kind of Grace-soul contact. Dean had agreed anyway, curious and feeling a bit of trepidation but no real worry.

Cas could look at his soul whenever he pleased. Dean didn’t mind if he wanted to touch.

Dean wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of silky feathers sliding over his back and thighs when he thrust into Cas or if it was how he could  _feel_  Cas when they were a tangle of limbs cocooned by black down. In those moments, he could feel everything that Cas was, the Grace thrumming through him from head to foot and spilling out because how could one contain an angel inside a body?

More than the power, what was most affecting were Cas’s emotions.

Dean had ended up almost sobbing and came so hard he blacked out the first time Cas had manifested his wings and wrapped Dean up in them. Dean had been surrounded by loveneedwant, so much devotion he felt smothered by it in the best possible way.

He had no doubt that Cas could feel the same from him, but that didn’t stop him from whispering the words against Castiel’s mouth, over and over again in time to the movements of their bodies.


	31. The Only Sound

Castiel sat in his chair in the corner of Dean’s room, quietly flipping the pages of an ancient manuscript from the Men of Letters library. It was actually rather fascinating, much to Castiel’s surprise and delight. Most of the books he’d found were interesting in the same way a child’s drawing interested its parents, but this was an author Cas would have actually liked to converse with. An apt pupil, almost of a level with its teacher.

He had a room of his own, but for reasons (and feelings) he would rather not examine too closely, he tended to gravitate towards the small chair in Dean’s room after the hunter had fallen asleep. He was, after all, the Winchesters’ guardian.

He carefully didn’t wonder why he never passed the night guarding Sam’s rest. Sam was no less deserving or less in need than Dean, but though Cas flew to Sam’s room to quiet his nightmares, he never lingered. Sam was a close friend, but he wasn’t Dean.

He turned the page, the whisper of the old, fragile paper the only sound in the room.

The only sound.

The  _only_ -

 

The book fell out of Castiel’s hands as he surged to his feet. He was at Dean’s side in an instant, chilled to his very core.

"Dean," he said urgently, reaching for Dean’s shoulder to turn him over. Images of blank green eyes and blood played back in his head, his perfect memory preserving every moment he had been forced to kill the human he-

Dean.

When had he lost track of Dean’s heartbeat? His breathing?

“ _Dean!_ ”

Dean jerked awake and Castiel breathed again. Dean was alive, he was fine; it was Castiel’s own distraction to blame. He had gotten absorbed in the book and allowed the sounds of Dean’s life to fade into background noise, inaudible in his sudden panic.

"Cas?" Dean asked muzzily, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. He craned his neck and looked at the digital alarm clock, then groaned and fell back onto his pillow. "What the hell, man? It’s three in the morning."

"My apologies," Cas said, withdrawing his hand from Dean’s shoulder. Dean gave a dismissive wave.

"What is it?" he asked. Then his eyes widened and he sat up, throwing off the bedcovers as he spoke; "Is it Sam? Did something happen? What-"

"Sam is fine," Cas assured him quickly. Dean relaxed, then frowned.

"Then what did you wake me up for?" he asked. Cas hesitated. "Come on. Talk to me."

"I was reading and I thought…" Cas said. He looked away for a moment. "I lost track of your heartbeat."

Dean sucked in a breath. Cas had told them all about Naomi’s training and what he’d been forced to do over and over and over again. The story had come out after Cas had frantically flown into the bunker one too many times seeking Dean.

It was quiet for a moment, though Castiel had attuned his ears more closely than ever to Dean’s heart and his breathing. Then, finally, Dean scooted over.

"Come on, then. I need to sleep." He lifted the covers and looked expectantly at Castiel. Cas stared, Grace suddenly feeling very light and too warm all at once.

"What?" he asked.

"I’m suggesting an easier way to keep track," Dean said gruffly. "Now hurry up."

Cas eased himself onto the bed. He sat uncertainly until Dean gave a soft huff of irritation and hauled him down by the front of his pajama shirt. Cas let himself be pulled down and into Dean’s arms, his own breath stuttering in his chest as Dean belied his annoyed tone and held him gently.

Castiel’s ear was directly over Dean’s heart. Dean’s heart was racing, pounding strong and steady.

"Your heartbeat is very rapid," Cas commented quietly, slowly wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and listening to the heartbeat beneath his ear quicken.

"Yeah, well…" Dean said. He sounded embarrassed and Cas lifted his head. Their faces were very close, close enough that Castiel could have counted each of Dean’s eyelashes even if he had been human, with merely human eyesight.

Dean’s breathing hitched.

"Cas?"

The sound sent warm puffs of air against Castiel’s face. He leaned in and angled his head, stopping only centimeters from contact. He wanted this, but he wasn’t sure if Dean-

Dean closed the last of the distance, arms tightening possessively around Castiel as they kissed.

 


	32. Prayer

“Hey Cas, just wanted to let you know that Sam and I are coming home a day early. The nest was small and pretty easy to find. Already took care of them.”

*short pause*

“Hope none of the other hunters needed an alibi while we were gone. No offense man, but you’re still crap at lying.” *quiet chuckle* “Missed you out there. I know we have to leave someone to man the phones, but-“

*silence*

“The motel’s beds are lumpy and squeaky as all hell. The sheets are scratchy. Don’t think the owners have changed ‘em since before Sam was born.”

*deep breath*

“The bed’s cold. Didn’t think I’d miss you stealing the covers.”

*quieter, soft*

“I’ll be home tomorrow, babe. Love you.”

_Amen._


	33. Frottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, HS AU

Dean shoved Cas up against the door of the boy’s bathroom, already leaning in to kiss him. Cas arched against him eagerly, thighs parting as Dean slid a leg in between them.

Cas broke the kiss with a moan, raking his fingers down Dean’s suit-clad back as he bucked his hips.

"Dean!" he gasped, blue eyes dilated. He pulled Dean into a demanding kiss, more air than tongue as Dean kept up the motions of his leg.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas…” Dean said. He moved down Cas’s neck, nipping and sucking as his hands tore at the buttons of Castiel’s dress shirt. Cas was already working on Dean’s belt with trembling hands.

 _Virgin hands_ , Dean thought, and the reminder sent another bolt of lust through him. He did, however, stop Cas from continuing to undress him. He reached down and untucked his shirt. Cas’s hands immediately slid under to get at the hidden skin.

Dean kissed Cas’s collarbone and continued down, rucking up his undershirt to get at one of his nipples. Cas moaned again, fingernails scraping against Dean’s skin.

"Dean, please…"

Dean kept up the motion of his hips, rocking their clothed pelvises together. He could feel Cas hard and hot against his thigh, just as he was sure Cas could feel Dean’s erection through his pants.

He’d wanted more for Cas’s first time than the high school bathroom, but  _fuck_ , just a little, just to take the edge off until they could leave the dance and go to the hotel room Dean had reserved for the night.

"You were so fucking sexy out there," Dean growled in Cas’s ear, biting gently at the lobe.

"So were you," Cas said like it was some kind of accusation, voice wrecked. " _Dean_ , I’m -“

"I got you," Dean said. He kissed Cas again and swallowed his moan as he shuddered through orgasm and followed quickly after.

 


	34. BJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, HS AU

Cas knelt between his boyfriend’s legs. He ran his hands up Dean’s thighs, hearing the hitch in Dean’s breathing and using the sound to fuel his courage.

This should be simple. In theory, anyway. Cas had spent an informative night carefully browsing porn and how-to guides on the Internet (before deleting the browser history). He wanted to do this for Dean.

He wanted to do this  _with_  Dean.

"Cas," Dean said, voice strangled, as Cas pulled at his belt buckle and the zip of his pants. Dean was already hard and Cas stroked his erection tentatively. He’d  _felt_  Dean’s arousal before, but he’d never held it. This was new for both of them.

"Is this ok?" he asked Dean belatedly, looking up. Dean’s eyes were wide, lips parted in surprise, and expression naked lust. Even before Cas finished the question, Dean was nodding.

"Yeah, Cas…  _fuck,_  please.”

Cas scooted closer, lifting himself up onto his knees. Dean’s breathing audibly stuttered as Cas angled the tip of Dean’s cock towards his mouth and lowered his head.

It was… strange, to say the least. He had to remember to keep his teeth safely away from the tender skin and Dean was so  _big_  he couldn’t fit much in his mouth. (This had looked a lot easier when the actors and actresses in porn were doing it. Cas had just looked up blowjobs, he wasn’t inclined to be picky as to who was performing.) He stroked his hand up and down what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, but it was hard to coordinate the movements of his head and his hand.

The taste was weird too. Not exactly terrible, but not particularly pleasant. Skin and sweat and maybe a little bitter, but Cas could bear it to get this kind of reaction out of Dean.

Dean’s fists were balled in the couch cushions, little sounds tearing themselves from the back of his throat. His hips were trembling but mostly steady, until suddenly Cas pressed his mouth down just a little more, or maybe he flicked his wrist, and then Dean wasn’t still. He thrust instinctively, choking out Cas’s name, and Cas gagged. He pulled off and coughed, rubbing at his throat.

"Shit, I’m sorry," Dean said, reaching down for Cas and gently pulling him into Dean’s lap. He kissed Cas gently, hands on Cas’s hips. "Sorry."

His hands slid to cup Cas’s ass through his jeans. Slowly, he began to grind up into Cas’s body and Cas moaned and relaxed into it, moving his hips in rhythm with Dean’s.


	35. Purgatory

“Dean,” Cas said, slightly hesitant, slightly irritated. Dean didn’t care. “I gave you my word that I won’t run.”

“I know,” Dean said. He wrapped his arms tighter around Cas, though he didn’t quite dare move his hips forward. He was almost-but-not-quite spooning the angel and moving his hips any closer would eliminate that ‘almost’.

He wanted to, so badly he could almost taste it (like the sweat and dirt on Cas’s skin every time he breathed in), but fuck knew if Cas felt the same. He’d just gotten Cas back, he wasn’t about to scare him away with-

With anything Dean may or may not admit to feeling.

And if there was one thing Dean was sure of, Cas would be able to /feel/ just how much Dean wanted him if he closed that last bit of distance between their bodies.

Cas was quiet for a moment.

“It would be safer for you if-” he started. Dean scowled and Cas must have sensed the sudden dark cloud looming behind him, because he instantly quieted.

“I don’t care,” Dean said, holding Cas ever tighter. “I don’t give a damn about ‘safe’. Cas…” His voice choked on the last syllable, nearly strangling his next words on his tongue. “I need you.”

“You have Benny,” Cas said, like the two were equivalent. Like anything could substitute for Cas.

Dean huffed out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, well, he’s not you.” Benny was a good friend, a good fighter, and Dean would rather have Benny at his back in a bar fight than not, but… Cas was /Cas/.

“Dean…” Cas said. He went quiet and then sighed. He settled himself in Dean’s arms, moving his hips back so that his body was completely cradled by Dean’s.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m not leaving,” Cas said. “But if this reassures you…” He left the rest unspoken.

Dean swallowed thickly and nodded, then tilted his head forward and rested his forehead against the back of Cas’s skull. He didn’t quite dare press a kiss to the nape of Cas’s neck (but if his lips brushed the dirty skin, Cas didn’t say anything.)


	36. In Memorium

Dean’s door was slightly ajar when Castiel reached it, so he hesitantly poked his head in.

Something was wrong and he didn’t know what it was. A heaviness had settled over the bunker, starting in the morning. Sam had been the first to wake, which was rare but not unheard of, but he had also made breakfast. Sam never made breakfast unless Dean was unable. It wasn’t that the younger Winchester was a bad cook, but Dean was incredible, and all three men living at the bunker preferred Dean’s cooking. (It meant that Sam and Cas swapped off doing dishes, but to them it seemed a fair trade.)

 

The last time Sam had made breakfast, it was because Dean has broken his arm hunting down a shapeshifter. Their latest hunt, however, had been a routine salt and burn and no one had been badly injured.

Sam had seemed distracted and nearly burned the eggs, but when Cas had asked after Dean, Sam had gone quiet for a moment before replying that “today… isn’t a good day for him”.

When Dean hadn’t shown up for breakfast (something Sam didn’t seem surprised by), Cas had taken it upon himself to investigate.

Dean was half-reclined on his bed, looking up at the ceiling with a weighty expression on his face.

"Dean?" Cas asked. Dean didn’t look at him.

"Hey, Cas," he said. His voice was hoarse and Cas frowned.

"Are you all right?" he asked, stepping into the room. Out of habit, he shut the door behind himself. Dean looked towards him at the sound and forced himself to smirk. Cas could see the strain in Dean’s eyes.

"I’d be better if you locked the door and came over here," Dean said huskily, slipping as easily into seduction mode as he did into his FBI suit. His heart wasn’t in it.

Cas padded over to the bed and sat down on the mattress. Dean made an eager expression, though his eyes were still hooded, and when Dean reached for Cas, Cas didn’t resist. They had done this a few times now, shyly at first, and growing bolder as time passed, but this was not what Dean needed. Cas kissed Dean back gently, not allowing it to deepen into something carnal, and when Dean drew back with a small, irritated noise, Cas spoke.

"Talk to me."

Dean took a deep breath and gave Cas a strained smile.

"What, you need a little dirty talk to get you in the mood?"

"Dean," Cas said, more a coax than an order.

Dean looked down. He reached out and wrapped his hand around one of Castiel’s, seemingly entranced by the way their fingers interlocked. Cas held on, waiting. Eventually, Dean took another deep breath.

"Is there any chance you’ll just let this go and fuck me until I can’t even remember my own name?" Dean asked.

"If I thought it would help, I would," Cas replied softly. He paused a moment, then added, "Please."

Dean went quiet. When he at long last spoke again, he directed his words at Cas’s hand rather than his face.

"Today is the day… it’s the anniversary of the day my dad died."

Sensing there was more, Cas waited.

"You miss your father," Cas said when Dean didn’t speak. Dean snorted and shook his head; not, Castiel thought, an indication that Cas was wrong, but more a self-deprecating gesture.

"Dad sold his  _soul_  so I’d live. Just… fuck.” Dean ran a hand over his face. “He wasn’t perfect. I know that, damnit, I do. But…  _godfuckingdamnit_ , I should have died.”

"Dean-"

"My dad was tortured in Hell for decades, Cas.  _Decades_ ,” Dean snapped, finally meeting Cas’s eyes. “Because of _me_ , because-“

"Because he knew that you were worth saving," Cas said. Dean’s expression turned murderous. He dropped Castiel’s hand and shoved himself up off the bed.

"What the hell about me is so worth saving? It took me less than a year to sign up for a trip downstairs because I couldn’t even keep Sam safe. I broke in thirty years when Dad hadn’t, not a bit, and nearly-" Dean cut himself off then and bent over the desk, locking his elbows and bracing his arms against the polished wood.

"You stopped it, Dean," Cas reminded him gently. He got up off the bed and moved behind Dean, wrapping his arms around the hunter’s waist. Dean didn’t move. Cas hesitated for a moment, then spoke again. "Would it help if I told you that John Winchester now shares your mother’s heaven?"

Dean tensed. He breathed in sharply and when he breathed out, the air shuddered in his lungs.

"What?" Dean asked hoarsely. Cas shut his eyes.

"During the year that you were with Lisa," he said, feeling a brief pang of old pain and jealousy. Dean lifted a hand to squeeze one of Castiel’s hands comfortingly. "I visited your mother’s heaven. Since her soul and John’s were destined for one another, they shared space. They were very happy." Cas thought for a moment. "Many of the memories John shared with Mary were of you. He was very proud of the man you had become and I am certain that if he could see you now, he would be even prouder still."

Dean didn’t say anything, but he squeezed Cas’s hand again. Pressed against him like this, Cas could feel it when Dean’s breathing shuddered again. He pretended not to notice when Dean bowed his head.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, voice choked.


	37. Nightmare

Dean had started sleeping more deeply since he and Sam had settled into the bunker. The warding built into the iron-plated foundations of the building shouted ‘safety’ to the hunter part of his brain, and the memory-foam mattress and photographs on the walls screamed ‘home’.

Castiel’s presence, warm and solid in the bed next to Dean, had always whispered promises of both. Dean couldn’t remember ever sleeping so well, so it was with a great deal of surprise that he found himself jerked to wakefulness in the wee hours one morning.

For a moment, he had no idea what had woken him, but then he realized that Cas was shaking and squirming. Alarm bells immediately started going off in Dean’s head. Cas usually slept like a log (the dead never slept) and once he was out, he was generally still and quiet the whole night. Dean had watched him sometimes during his rare bouts of insomnia.

He had never witnessed anything like this. Cas’s brow was furrowed, teeth gritted, and Dean could see Cas’s eyes darting wildly beneath his eyelids, even in the dim light.

 _Nightmare._  They’d had too many of those in their family for Dean not to recognize the signs.

"Cas… Cas, wake up." Dean touched his shoulder gently, intending to shake the sleeping former angel, but the moment Dean’s hand touched him, Castiel cried out and jerked away from Dean. Very alarmed now, Dean grabbed Cas and pulled him in.

Castiel thrashed, face a mess of fear and anguish. Dean hugged him, pressing Cas’s face against his chest, and ran a hand soothingly up and down his lover’s naked back.

"Come on, buddy, wake up. It’s just a nightmare, it’s ok, everything is ok…" Dean said. He kept his voice calm and even, but firm. Shouting wouldn’t help, it would just make the nightmare worse and bring it into the waking world until Cas got his bearings. "Nobody is dying, you’re not in Heaven, everything is ok…"

(and how fucked up  _were_  their lives when not being in Heaven was a major positive? everyone on Earth knew that Hell sucked, but who wanted to avoid Heaven?)

"Cas-"

Cas inhaled sharply and tensed in Dean’s hold. Cas tried to jerk away instinctively, but Dean held on and let Cas come back to himself.

Cas breathed again, the air shuddering in his lungs. He wrapped his arms around Dean and held him tightly. Dean could feel faint tremors running through Cas’s body, so Dean continued running his palm over Castiel’s back.

"I…" Cas said. His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. "I was falling."

A nightmare about falling was fairly standard even among normal humans, but for Castiel, those dreams had special terror. To have wings and then suddenly not have them anymore… Dean couldn’t even imagine.

"I’ve caught you," Dean replied softly.


	38. I Have Pie

The news had been filled with reports of the mysterious meteor shower for days. No matter where you went, you heard whispers about falling stars.

If wishes made on such stars came true, then it sure was taking its own sweet time. The bunker had felt hollow when Dean had dragged Sam back home to find Kevin with the lit-up map of the world. Kevin had been staying in one of the guest rooms for the past week, resigned but willing to help now that circumstances had so drastically shifted.

Sam was sleeping off the effects of the Hell trials in his room and he only emerged to eat or the use the bathroom. He was looking better these days; that was something at least.

And Dean, of course, was in his room. His own room, with the large (too-empty) bed and the decorations on the (half-empty) walls.

Cas was still missing and Dean had wished on every star he’d seen that night that Cas would make his way back home. Dean was an impatient bastard sometimes and he couldn’t wait months to be reunited with Cas again.

God wouldn’t separate them  _now_ , not after everything, after all they had been through… no.

The knock at the bunker door caught him by surprise when he was making dinner. (He had accidentally bought too much hamburger meat and  _coincidentally_  just happened to have enough to feed four grown men. Just like he’d accidentally made a few extra helping of country fried steak the night before, or a few extra sausages and pancakes the morning before that. Coincidence.)

His heart pounded in his ears as he quickly rinsed and dried his hands. Maybe Charlie had decided to visit, full of questions Dean didn’t know the answers to?

He opened the door and his breath caught. Castiel stood on the other side, a hesitant and hangdog expression on his face. A plastic bag from the closest supermarket was clutched in one of Cas’s hands and his trenchcoat was covered in patches of dirt and mud. His hair was limp and his usual dusting of stubble was longer, almost to the length it had been in Purgatory.

He looked exhausted and he was in dire need of a shower, but he was alive.

Dean couldn’t move.

Cas tentatively lifted the grocery bag and offered it to Dean.

"I found pie." His voice was uncertain, like he didn’t know if his gift (or himself) would find welcome here.

Dean seized him by the lapel and pulled him into a tight hug. He heard the bag drop to the ground with a pastry-destroying thump, but he didn’t give a damn.

"Welcome home."


	39. Good Morning

"Dean?"

Dean grumbled and wrapped his arms tighter around Cas. He buried his face in his lover’s neck, still clinging to sleep. He was usually the first awake, but he’d gotten back late from a hunt with Sam and was still exhausted. It had been a difficult hunt.

Cas chuckled quietly and the sound reverberated through Dean’s chest. A large, warm hand stroked gently over his cheek and down his side. Cas didn’t speak.

Cas’s hand slipped under Dean’s shirt and trailed up over his ribs, then down again. Dean felt himself being gently pulled to full awareness, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not with the soft kisses Cas was laying over his cheeks and nose.

Dean shifted without opening his eyes, trying to catch Cas’s mouth with his own, but Cas dodged him in favor of laying more teasing kisses against his face. Cas’s hand had moved on, resting over Dean’s heart now instead of stroking up his side. Heaving a mental sigh, Dean finally opened his eyes.

Cas rewarded him with a close-mouthed kiss on the lips. Dean responded in kind, drawing the contact out for several perfect heartbeats before drawing back to smile at Cas.

"Good morning," Cas said softly. Dean lifted himself up just enough to see the alarm clock on the bedside table, then rested his weight back on the bed. It was already 11 o’clock.

"Guess I slept in," Dean said. Cas nodded.

"I would have let you sleep, but…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged. Dean nodded, understanding despite the half-complete sentence. As much as he loved being able to spend hours in bed with Cas, he was usually awake and he usually liked to be able to  _choose_  to spend the time there, rather than doing it by accident.

"Have you been watching me sleep since you woke up?" Dean asked, mouth quirking into a half-grin. Cas smiled back.

"No. I made coffee," he said.

"And after?" Dean prodded knowingly. Cas kissed him again and Dean chuckled, lifting a hand to stroke over Cas’s morning scruff. Affectionately, he added, "Creepy."

Cas slid his hand to Dean’s back and ran his fingers lightly over the bandages there, careful not to prod too harshly at the still-healing wound.

"I was worried," he said simply. Dean kissed his forehead.

"I know, Cas. I know," he said. The wound wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly a minor scratch either. Dean and Sam had been held up a whole day longer than they’d thought they needed and while Dean had called Cas… he knew how much the former angel worried. Cas couldn’t heal Dean now and while he accompanied Dean on most hunts, sometimes they needed to leave someone behind in case other hunters called and needed information.

Dean had gotten in too late last night for Cas to properly fuss over the wound; he’d collapsed into bed, exhausted, right next to where Cas was already sleeping fitfully. Cas had calmed down the moment Dean had wrapped his arms around the angel.

"Ready to get up?" Cas asked, trailing his hand down Dean’s back to his hip.

"Nah," Dean said, inching a little closer to Cas. "Give me another half hour? Still tired."

He wrapped his arms tighter around Cas to make sure Cas got the message;  _stay_. Cas buried his face in Dean’s neck.

"All right," he murmured. "Welcome home, Dean."


	40. Ice Cream

Dean walked away from the order window of the small ice cream shop, two dipped cones clutched triumphantly in hand. They’d finished the case early and Dean, at least, was in no rush to return to the bunker.

Sam could mind the store by himself for a few more hours. Dean wanted to celebrate.

Cas was waiting patiently on the bench Dean had left him on. Dean grinned and handed him his cone. Cas had admitted that he’d never tried ice cream before, so this would be a treat.

"Here. Good job on your first hunt," he said, sliding onto the bench next to Cas. If he was a bit closer than usual, Cas didn’t know the difference.

"Thank you," Cas said. He studied the cone for a moment, then licked at the chocolate coating. Dean chuckled.

"It’ll melt. You have to bite into it," he said, then demonstrated by biting off a good chunk. Cas immediately copied him. His eyes widened with surprise and delight as the chocolate and vanilla flavors burst across his tongue.

"This is delicious," he said. He took another bite, this one larger. Some of the ice cream was already melting, sliding over Cas’s fingers and dripping onto his shirt, but Cas didn’t seem to care.

"It’s just vanilla dipped in chocolate," Dean said, unable to help grinning as Cas dug in enthusiastically. He was like a little kid-

Dean revised that thought when Cas looked up. The ice cream had melted around Cas’s mouth, abruptly derailing Dean’s train of thought into kid-unfriendly territory.

Cas licked his lips unconsciously, cleaning them, and Dean coughed and looked away. He crossed his legs and became  _very interested_  in his ice cream, noting that the sweet stuff had started melting all over his hands too.


	41. Tattoo

Dean parked the Impala in front of the tattoo parlor and shut off the engine. 

"You ready?" he asked, looking at Cas.

Cas was in the passenger seat, staring out the window, though Dean doubted he was seeing the buildings just outside. His mind was miles and miles away; dimensions away, even, Dean would bet.

Dean wondered if the fact of Cas’s humanity hadn’t really sunk in for the ex-angel until yesterday. Dean knew it hadn’t for him or he would have hauled Cas into the nearest reputable tattoo shop the second Cas arrived on their doorstep.

Yesterday… it had been too close a call. Cas had blinked and his eyes had been  _black_  and… Fuck.

Dean looked away, forcefully repressing those terrifying five minutes where he’d had to hold Cas’s body immobile while Sam recited an exorcism. It was a miracle Cas had survived at all and for those few minutes, Dean had been certain they were freeing a corpse and not his-

His Cas. Cas. Not his, just… Cas.

"Let’s go," Dean said, opening up the door. Cas’s voice made him pause.

"This body… it really is mine permanently, isn’t it?" Cas asked rhetorically, voice heavy with the weight of his loss. Dean didn’t know what to say, so he kept silent. Cas sighed and opened the door, then headed for the tattoo parlor. Dean followed.

And when Cas’s eyes lingered on the photos of wing tattoos displayed on the walls, Dean thought he might have an idea of how to give some of what Cas had lost back.


	42. Hurt

Cas was in the kitchen when he heard the door to the bunker slam. Worry chased his instinctive relief at Dean’s return as he heard Dean stomp down the stairs. He quickly shut off the burner, moved the noodles to a cool spot on the stove, and went out to greet Dean.

From the look on Dean’s face, it had been a bad hunt.

He had a large bruise covering a good quarter of his face and he moved gingerly, as though he’d taken a bad injury to the chest. Cas couldn’t see through his many layers of clothing, so he couldn’t even guess what the injury might be.

Small cuts covered Dean’s hands at least up to the wrists, where his arms were covered by his jacket sleeves. He walked with a slight limp every other step; twisted ankle, possibly broken. It had been a while since Dean had been thrown around so badly on a hunt, not since before-

Cas put the thought of his Grace out of his mind. He still felt the loss keenly, though it had been months.

"What happened?" he asked. Dean snorted bitterly.

"What, no ‘hello, welcome back’?" he said. Cas ignored the grumbling, knowing how Dean got sometimes when he was stressed and injured.

"How badly are you hurt?" Cas asked. Dean scowled.

"I’ll be fine."

"Dean-"

"What, are you going to kiss and make better?" Dean asked sharply, clearly expecting that to be the end of it.

Slowly, half in shock at his own daring, Cas moved closer and gently grabbed one of Dean’s injured hands. Dean’s breathing audibly caught in his throat.

"Cas…" Dean started, but the sentence died on his tongue as Cas lifted Dean’s hand and pressed his lips against one of the shallow cuts.

They stood there in silence that grew thicker and thicker with tension, the moment pulling taut as Cas shifted Dean’s hand and kissed every nick. Cas didn’t dare look up to see what kind of expression Dean was making as he reached for the hunter’s other hand. To his relief, Dean let him take it, and Cas gave it the same treatment he’d given the first.

He let Dean’s hand slip out of his grasp, but still didn’t dare look up.

"This is all I can do for you," he said softly, voice pained. Once, these injuries would have vanished under the briefest touch of his Grace, and now…

"I know," Dean said, voice just as quiet as Cas’s. He cleared his throat. "You missed my shiner."

Cas looked up, intending to look at the bruise and finding his gaze caught instead by Dean’s. Cas stared, hyper-aware of each breath he took, of each time Dean inhaled, of the scent of leather and motor oil. Slowly, he reached up to cup Dean’s face with both hands, alert for any sign of regret.

Dean’s pupils dilated and his lips parted. Cas leaned in and pressed his lips to the corner of Dean’s eye, then laid another as gentle as a butterfly landing on the curve of Dean’s cheek.

Dean seemed to shiver under the attention and he turned in Cas’s grasp, careful not to dislodge the hands holding his face.

"If I say I bit my lip, would you kiss it?" Dean asked. Their faces were barely inches apart, close enough for Cas to feel each warm puff of air as Dean spoke.

"You don’t need to lie, Dean," Cas said. Dean chuckled lowly.

"Can’t fool you," he said. Then, " _Cas_.”

Dean’s lips were on his a moment later, though who closed the distance, neither of them could say.


	43. $20

Everything was  _perfect_. Cas’s lips were slightly chapped, but warm, and though his stubble was a bit rough against Dean’s cheeks, Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He had Cas pinned against a wall in the kitchen, kissing him as though the only air he could breathe was what he could get from Cas’s lungs. His hands were on Cas’s gorgeous hipbones and Cas’s hands… they were all over. Up Dean’s back, fisted in his hair, grabbing his ass. Cas was kissing him back just as desperately.

If Dean was going back to Heaven when he died, he knew for damn sure that this would be a moment he’d relive over and over and over and  _over_  again.

"Cas…" he breathed against the former angel’s lips, panting slightly. Cas’s lips were swollen slightly from the attention, mouth wet, and he was breathing just as heavily as Dean. A suggestion was on the tip of Dean’s tongue; stop now before things went too far too quickly, move this to a bedroom, hell, move this to the  _table_ -

Slow clapping reached his ears and Dean felt his insides freeze.

He turned towards the source of the sound, aware of Cas tensing next to him.

Sam and Charlie stood there, both clapping slowly. Charlie had a huge grin on her face whereas Sam just looked dumbstruck.

"Dean…" Sam said slowly. Dean braced himself, unconsciously leaning away from Cas. "You’re helping me pay for all the bets I just lost."

Dean blinked.

"What?" he asked. Charlie’s grin widened.

"Sam bet we’d need to intervene. I told him all we had to do was give you the opportunity, no matchmaking required," she said, then happily turned to Sam and held out her hand. "You owe me twenty!"


	44. Feel

This is the beginning of  _something_. What it is, Castiel does not yet know.

But Gabriel, Balthazar, and Anna brought him to this bar on Earth to celebrate and whatever the  _something_ hovering in the air is, just out of reach, Castiel  _wants_  to discover it. He wants to reach out with his en-vesseled hands and seize it, because it feels…

It  _feels._

It hums inside his Grace, beats through his blood in time to his heartbeat, and vibrates through every feather.

He has a drink before him on the table. Something alcoholic, he believes, though the alcohol is wasted on him. Nothing a human bar would serve is potent enough to get him drunk. His eyes rake the crowd, searching, seeking something he does not understand.

He sees a man across the room. He’s tall, through dwarfed by the man he stands next to in easy companionship. He’s dressed in leather and denim and, when the man turns, Castiel catches a hint of plaid beneath the jacket.

The hum has reached a fever pitch, drowning out the noise of the bar and sending tremors through Castiel’s body.

The man turns more fully, gaze moving up to lock with Castiel’s, and everything stops.

Castiel is lost.

He’s lost in brilliant green and freckles, falling through the humans’ eyes into a soul so deep that the Earth’s oceans could not compare. He’s lost in a soul so beautiful Eden itself could not compete.

Castiel snaps back to himself with a small gasp, and the human is still staring at him. It’s a small consolation that the human seems as dumbstruck as Castiel himself.

Then the human grins and turns to the long-haired man next to him and excuses himself. He begins making his way across the bar, heading directly for Castiel’s table.

Castiel meets him halfway.

This is the start of  _something_ , Castiel is sure. What it is, he cannot wait to find out.


	45. Dance

"Now the left foot," Cas reminded, smiling gently and holding back a laugh as Dean tried to remember which foot went where and how and when.

He’d taken ballroom back at one high school to score dates, but they’d only been there a month and little of what he’d learned had stuck. Cas knew a little bit more about dancing, but he had told Dean that he preferred to follow.

He may have phrased it slightly more along the lines of being willing to follow Dean anywhere, whether that led to the Pit or to stubbed toes, but Dean tried not to think about that too often. It made him think about the enormity of what the being in his arms had done for him and would willingly go through again, just to see him safe. It was too much and Cas would just  _give_  it to him; his love, his fidelity, his  _life_.

Thinking about it also made him lose count and he stumbled, cursing.

"This is stupid," Dean grumbled, cheeks heating. Cas chuckled again, unbothered.

"One more time?" he asked hopefully. Dean could deny him nothing. He got back into position, his hands on Cas’s waist while the former angel’s arms went around his neck.

Dean stayed still for a moment, waiting for the record to hit on the right beat, and then he began moving. He counted off in his head as he stepped, determined to get it right this time, and Cas followed him.

"You don’t need to worry so much about the count," Cas said when Dean did an extra half-step to compensate for getting a bit ahead of the music. "Just feel it, Dean."

"I’m trying," Dean muttered. Cas leaned in and kissed him, sweeping away all negative thoughts with the gentle brush of his tongue.

Dean reciprocated eagerly and, when the stream of slow, mostly-chaste kisses ceased, he realized that they’d been moving in the general shape of the dance, though not the exact steps.

Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s as they kept on moving to the music, feet following no set path or technique. They were making up the moves as they went along, Cas following where Dean’s feet took them.

Dean grinned and wrapped his arms tighter around Cas’s waist.

It suited them.


	46. Lazy Morning

Cas hated mornings. All mornings, but Sunday mornings in particular were exceptionally terrible. Sundays were supposed to be days of  _rest_ , but Dean never allowed him to sleep in as late as Cas would like.

At least this cloud had a silver lining, one that shone brightly enough to almost overcome the cloud itself. Almost.

The first kiss dropped gently onto the nape of Cas’s neck. The second landed just beneath it, traveling lazily in a line down the back of his neck. The kisses lingered on the large vertebrae at the top of his spine.

The familiar mouth moved over to the side of Cas’s neck and gently sucked the skin there, tracing over the marks made last night.

Cas made a small noise in the back of his throat, stubbornly clinging to sleep even as he shifted back to press himself against Dean’s chest. He was warm, and comfortable, and if he had his way he wouldn’t need to leave the bed for at least another hour. Possibly two.

Dean chuckled and Cas felt the sound hum across his back.

"Good morning," Dean murmured, pressing another kiss behind Cas’s ear. 

"No," Cas grumbled. Former angels of the Lord did not  _whine_.

Dean chuckled again and shifted, leaning over Cas and propping himself up with one arm so he could lay more gentle kisses over Cas’s face. Cas wrinkled his nose, trying to stifle a laugh as Dean’s morning stubble tickled lightly across his cheeks.

Dean kissed Cas’s temple, then his eyebrow, his forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheeks, the underside of his jaw, his chin, the corner of his mouth… everywhere but where Cas wanted one. Cas turned his head, eyes still shut, trying to capture Dean’s lips with his own, but Dean had the advantage of sight.

After perhaps five minutes of playing ‘keep-away’, Cas gave in. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking tiredly, and the first thing he saw was, as always, Dean’s smile.

Some of his irritation melted, the rest of it ebbing when Dean leaned in for one last, close-mouthed kiss. This time, it was properly on Cas’s lips.

"Good morning," Dean said again. Cas smiled, still sleepy.

"Good morning," he replied. He snuggled down deeper into his pillow. "Coffee?"

"You and your coffee…" Dean said, shaking his head fondly. He kissed Cas’s forehead again. "It’ll be in the kitchen when you drag your fine ass out of bed."

And, with a playful slap to said ‘fine ass’, Dean was sliding out of bed and heading for the door. Cas didn’t follow immediately, instead allowing himself to enjoy a few more minutes of rest in their bed before joining Dean.


	47. Adoption

Dean jiggled his leg nervously. He could barely bring himself to eat, his stomach was in so many knots, even though he typically liked lasagna and he’d spent hours in the kitchen making it.

Dinner so far had been unnaturally quiet. Sam and Charlie were out on a salt-and-burn, so that left the bunker empty save for them. Normally, Dean or Cas would have seized the opportunity to turn the evening into a date night, but Cas hadn’t suggested it and Dean had something else on his mind.

Two weeks ago, Dean and Cas had investigated a haunting at an elementary school. Dean had filled the opening for a substitute kindergarten teacher and Cas had posed as a janitor. Seeing all the kids running around had made Dean a bit wistful and had gotten him thinking.

The only question was whether or not Cas wanted to really settle down and bring a kid into the bunker. Between the four of them living in or near the bunker (Charlie had her own apartment), and with Kevin and his mom visiting every so often… there wouldn’t be a shortage of babysitters. Someone always had to be here anyway to man the phone lines in case a hunter called in seeking information or someone to pose as a superior in the FBI or CIA or what-have-you.

It could work and Dean wanted it. He wanted it so badly, but Cas had been oddly withdrawn after that hunt. He’d been just as affectionate with Dean as ever, perhaps even more so, but there were times when Dean caught Cas watching him as though afraid he’d disappear.

Cas put his fork down, his lasagna barely touched. Dean cleared his throat.

"Uh, Cas…" he started. Cas looked up at him. "There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about."

Cas’s expression took on a guarded cast, but Dean didn’t notice. He pushed at the remains of his dinner, anxiety crawling up his throat.

"Ever since that hunt a few weeks ago, I’ve been thinking," Dean said. "I mean, I always wanted kids, you know? I just never thought I’d get to, but now…"

Dean looked up from his plate to judge Cas’s reaction. Cas was staring at him, expression so pained it made Dean’s chest clench in sympathy. Something cold slid down the back of Dean’s spine.

"Cas?" he asked. Cas looked away. "Hey, come on. Talk to me."

"I thought we were happy," Cas said quietly. Dean felt the words like a punch to the gut.

"We are!" he said instantly. "At least I am, but if you’re not-"

"I am," Cas said, reaching across the table to grab Dean’s hand. "Dean, you know that just being with you makes me happy, but… I can’t give you children."

"You don’t want kids?" Dean asked, trying to hide his disappointment. He squeezed Cas’s hand. "It’s ok, I just… you seemed to like the kids at that school."

"It’s not a matter of want," Cas said, frowning like Dean was being deliberately obtuse. "But Dean… I’m male."

"Obviously," Dean said, getting more confused by the second. It sounded a lot like he and Cas were having two separate conversations…

It clicked.

Dean slapped his free hand over his eyes, torn between laughing and kicking himself.

"Cas, you do know I wasn’t talking about leaving you for a woman, right?" he asked. He looked at Cas. "I was talking about adoption."

Cas’s expression went from anxiety to surprise to chagrin in a heartbeat.

"Adoption," Cas repeated. Dean smiled softly.

"Yeah. So, Cas, let me ask again. Do you want to raise a kid together?"

Cas smiled, practically aglow with emotion, and Dean’s breath caught.

"I’d love to."


	48. Cave-In

Cas groaned, blinking slowly as he came to.

His head hurt, his legs were sore, his chest  _ached_ … there was not a part of his body free from hurt. He could feel blood trickling from a cut on his temple.

But he was alive. The last thing he remembered was the tunnel collapsing after Sam had shot off the flare to kill the wendigo… Cas was sure it had hit the beast and killed it, but he didn’t want to stick around.

He tried to push himself up, but  _pain_ shot up his arm and he collapsed again with a short, sharp cry. He looked, squinting through the gloom.

His right hand and a good portion of his forearm were buried beneath rubble. He flexed his hand, gratified when it responded, but the action sent pain along every nerve ending. At least the limb hadn’t been crushed, but he couldn’t pull it out.

He tried moving his legs, hoping that maybe gaining leverage would help, but one ankle spasmed as soon as he put weight on it. It throbbed fiercely and he hissed as he set his leg back down. Twisted ankle, possibly broken. He didn’t know enough to tell.

He rested, trying to breathe through the pain. Now that he was conscious, it seemed like every part of his body was vying for attention, complaining loudly about the cave-in. He’d wait. Hopefully Dean or Sam would find him before too long, or he’d come up with a strategy to make the rocks shift (hopefully without bringing them down on his head).

Dean would come for him, he was sure. He couldn’t think about the alternative, couldn’t think that Dean had gotten caught in the rockslide and hadn’t been as lucky as Cas. Still, the image of Dean’s eyes, unblinking and unseeing, blood matting his hair, heavy rocks crushing the strong but vulnerable places on Dean’s body-

Cas shook himself. He coughed.

"Dean?" he called, voice hoarse. No answer.

"Dean?" he tried again, louder. "Sam?"

"Cas?" Dean’s voice.

Cas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Over here. My hand’s caught. I can’t move."

 He heard footsteps, quick and sure, and then Dean was there. Dean knelt next to his trapped hand and studied the rocks for a moment.

Cas studied Dean. There was a small cut on his forehead and some rock dust on his clothes, but other than that he seemed unhurt.

"Ok," Dean said, glancing up at the top of the pile to make sure nothing would come down on their heads. "Should be safe to dig you out, just be ready to move the second I get your hand free, ok?"

"Agreed," Cas said. Dean began to dig, carefully but speedily moving the rocks and within minutes, Cas could pull his hand out. Dean winced in sympathy at the sight; his hand was basically one large bruise in the vague shape of a hand, his fingers swollen and deep scratches across the back of his hand and his palm.

"Can you stand?" Dean asked, moving to help him up. Cas reached out with his good hand and got to his feet, trying to put as little weight as possible on his injured leg.

"I believe I twisted my ankle," Cas said. Dean nodded and slung Cas’s less injured arm over his shoulder.

They left the cave together.


	49. Awkward Mistletoe

It was Christmas in the bunker. Well, nearly Christmas anyway, and after a little over a year of being settled in, they’d all decided that it was high time they had a proper holiday and threw a party.

'They', of course, being Charlie, Sam, Dean, and Cas. Dean and Sam had gotten discount decorating supplies, Charlie and Cas had chosen the tree, and they'd all pitched in to help decorate it and cook.

The guest list was short; Kevin and his mom, Garth, and Jody. Still, everyone had shown up and, as Dean had been in charge of the eggnog, everyone was feeling rather pleasantly warm.

And perhaps Dean hadn’t been paying as much attention to the decorations as he should have, and perhaps Charlie may have managed to do a little decorating of her own. Perhaps Cas didn’t know the custom of mistletoe. Perhaps only one of these sentences is true.

Dean hadn’t noticed the little plant until he was already beneath it. If he’d been by himself, it wouldn’t have mattered.

But no, just as he was leaving the kitchen, Cas had been trying to enter. Neither man had noticed the plant above their heads until Charlie spoke up.

"Dean, Cas, don’t move!"

Dean and Cas both paused instinctively, though Charlie’s voice had been far too  _pleased_  for either of them to fear danger.

"What is it?" Cas asked. Charlie grinned and pointed upwards.

Dean spotted the plant first. His shoulders slumped, exasperated.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me. Mistletoe?"

"Mistletoe?" Cas asked. 

"It means you two have to kiss," Sam piped up, grinning madly into his third glass of eggnog. "It’s tradition."

"Oh," Cas said, looking at Dean. Dean’s gaze darted down to Cas’s mouth. Dean licked his lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry.

He was gonna kill Charlie for this. Of all the people to get stuck under the mistletoe with, it had to be  _Cas_ _._ The only person in the room he actually wanted to kiss.

If he were anyone else, he’d probably be praising God for his good fortune. Unfortunately, God was a dick and he was Dean Winchester. Good things didn’t  _happen_.

And Cas was looking more uncertain by the minute. Damn.

"I’ll just kiss your cheek or something, ok?" Dean said, grumbling just a little. Cas hesitated, then his expression grew determined.

"All right," he said, turning his head slightly to present Dean with his cheek. Dean leaned in, wanting to get this over with before he embarrassed himself.

Cas turned suddenly, a split-second before Dean made contact, and their lips touched. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. He had no time to react before Cas pulled back, an uncertain look on his face.

Dean grabbed his shirt and pulled him right back in for a proper kiss.


	50. First Date

Dean fidgeted in his seat. He futzed with his napkin and re-straightened his slightly tarnished silverware and went through half his soda in what felt like ten minutes, just so he’d have something to do with his hands.

He was being ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to stop his palms from sweating or his hands from moving. Dinner with Cas had never made him nervous before. And dates, as a rule, did not make Dean nervous.

Apparently, a dinner date with Cas was all it took to turn Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man and scourge of Purgatory, into a bubbling ball of anxiety.

In Dean’s defense, it was their first actual date.

It had been about a month and a half since Dean and Sam had found Cas again. It had been a little over a month since Dean had first kissed Cas and Cas had responded eagerly. Since then, there’d been a few movie nights where more time was spent making out than watching the film, but no real, proper  _dates_.

Dean cleared his throat.

"So… how’s your burger?" he asked, wincing at the awkwardness in his tone.

"It’s good," Cas said, nodding agreeably. "I prefer yours, though."

Dean felt a pleasant warmth bloom in his chest.

He looked down at his pie. He hadn’t really been hungry, so he’d elected to start with the most important part of the meal. It was good, but not as tasty as the pies Cas could make once he’d gotten the hang of baking.

Dean laughed and put his fork down. Here they were, in a diner, eating subpar food and having stilted conversation, and for what? So they could do the standard couple thing?

"Dean?" Cas asked. Dean grinned.

"What do you say we get out of here and try this again tomorrow, at home?" he asked, gesturing to the plates of food. Cas smiled.

"I’d love to, Dean."


	51. True Form

Dean carded his fingers gently through Castiel’s hair, his smile lazy and soft. He felt lethargic in the best way, body sated and mind at ease.

Cas made a small noise of appreciation and moved closer to Dean. Cas slung his arm over Dean’s hips and let his fingers trail over the dip of Dean’s lower back. The touch was casually intimate rather than filled with intent, which Dean was surprised to find himself grateful for. He wasn’t young enough to be ready to go again so soon and he rather enjoyed the afterglow.

He brushed his lips over Cas’s forehead, not quite a kiss.

"Can I see you?" he asked, voice somewhat breathless with anticipation. Cas ‘hmm’d softly.

"Of course," he said, tilting his head up for a proper kiss. Dean gave it to him, a quiet moan escaping his throat when Cas’s tongue swept over his lips. Castiel’s hand came up to cover the handprint-shaped scar on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean moaned again as heat began to pour into him. Castiel’s Grace was moving through his shoulder, setting him aflame without burning him. Just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

There was a soft glow filtering through the thin skin of his closed eyes. Dean opened them so he could see.

Castiel was beautiful.

He was impossible to describe in visual terms, since Castiel was more sensation than solid. He was light and beauty, and the feel in the air before a severe storm. His wings, which were currently wrapped around Dean as though to protect him, were impressions of softness and muscle, the idea of a gale that came from nowhere and vanished just as quickly.

Castiel had the idea of size, like he was so large the room itself had warped in order to contain him, because surely nothing that big could fit into their bedroom, let alone on their bed.

Castiel was immense, and powerful, and so glorious no human was capable of comprehending, and currently he was humming with contentment and love. Castiel was literally aglow with it and the light held Dean tenderly.

Then the light began to fade from sight. Cas’s wings dissolved and the room ceased to warp around him as the borrowed Grace began to slip away from Dean. Within heartbeats, it was simply Dean and Cas, curled together on the bed.


	52. Amends To Make

He was warm. That was the first thing he noticed.

There was warmth surrounding him and a sheet draped over his naked hips. Comfort sang through his every muscle and he cuddled closer to the person next to him in bed. Their skin was smooth and firm, the hard planes of their body well-known territory.

The person chuckled, deep and familiar.

"Good morning, Cas."

Cas looked up and kissed Dean’s lips like he’d done it a thousand times before, on hundreds of mornings-after. Dean responded in kind and the ease of it made Cas want to weep.

Dean’s hand smoothed over Cas’s side and dropped low. Cas shivered and Dean kissed him again. This time, the kiss was as heated as their bodies were beneath the blankets on their bed. Pleasure, blissful and untainted, soared through Cas and he kissed Dean again and again and again as their bodies began to move together-

"Mister?"

Castiel’s eyes flew open. At once, he felt the chill of the hard stone beneath him and behind him, the cold he could never quite escape no matter how many layers he put on. He felt the hunger gnaw at his belly and the ache of too many nights without enough sleep.

"Mister?"

There was a light shining at his face. He blinked and squinted, the face of a policeman coming into view behind the flashlight’s beam.

"Yes?" Cas asked, wincing at the harshness of his own voice. He’d drunk little and hadn’t spoken in days. The cop looked at him with sympathy.

"You can’t sleep here," he said, firm but apologetic. "There’s a church just down the way that usually has a bed free-"

"That’s not necessary," Cas said, pushing himself up and hissing as the blood began to flow into limbs that had tried to hang onto the dream. His joints cracked.

The thought of sleeping in his Father’s house, surrounded by paintings of the brothers and sisters he had so betrayed… Cas could not. There would be no rest for him on a bed that smelled of incense in halls that rang with hymns.

"If you’re sure…" the cop said. "But you can’t sleep here."

Cas nodded and slowly pushed himself to his feet. His mind was foggy and his feet throbbed fiercely, but he had no choice. Time to move on.

"Which way to Lebanon?" he asked the cop. The officer was still watching him, and probably would until Cas had left the city limits. It wasn’t the first time he’d been ushered along by a cop, though thankfully he seemed pitiful enough that he had yet to be arrested for vagrancy.

"… that’s about a hundred miles from here," the cop said. Cas nodded.

"Which direction?"

"Lebanon is pretty small. You might have better luck in the city-" the cop began, but Cas shook his head.

"I have… family, there," he explained, stumbling over the word. Could he really claim ‘family’ still? Would Sam and Dean truly welcome him back, after all that he had done?

He didn’t know, but if nothing else, there were amends he had to make.


	53. What's The Deal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Sam and Charlie

"So…" Charlie said over her cup of coffee, staring at Sam. "What’s the deal with those two?"

The question was rushed, like it had been on the tip of her tongue since last night. She had arrived at the bunker, computer gear and a small suitcase in tow, and set up shop in one of the spare bedrooms early the previous evening. Charlie had had  _plenty_  of time to notice what Sam had been dealing with for years; the choking, ever-present tension between Dean and Cas.

Ever since Cas had Fallen and returned to the bunker (Dean had immediately pulled him into a hug so tight Sam was half-afraid the newly-human ribs would break), it had gotten worse and worse and  _worse_. Sam had been more than a little tempted to team up with Kevin - and Charlie, now that she was here - and lock them in a closet until they sorted things out.

And Sam never, ever wanted any details about just how they did that.

 

"I have no idea," he said, honest and a little frustrated. "Some days they’re practically attached at the hip, other days they hardly speak… and they’re always  _staring_  when they think no one’s looking. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so…” He paused, searching for words.

"Pathetic?" Charlie offered helpfully. Sam winced.

"Not the word I’d use, but close enough."

Charlie sipped her coffee and poked at her scrambled eggs with a fork, deep in thought. Sam wasn’t as great a cook as Dean, but he was passable.

"Any idea-" she started, but just then they both heard the creak of a door opening. They both turned towards the noise, Sam already expecting to see his brother emerging from his room. Each door had a pretty distinctive sound and being a hunter meant you learned how to catalogue the noises of your environment pretty quickly. That was definitely Dean’s door.

However, the person who came around the corner, in pajamas and Dean’s bathrobe, was not Dean.

Charlie and Sam watched silently as Cas shuffled into the kitchen. His hair was messy and he blinked tiredly as he headed for the coffeepot. He pulled Dean’s robe tighter around himself, as though cold, even though the temperature in the bunker was perfectly warm.

"Good morning, Cas," Charlie piped up. Cas turned towards her, a new pot of coffee already percolating.

"Good morning, Charlie, Sam," he said in return. Sam nodded.

"You need a hand with breakfast?" Sam asked. Cas shook his head and grabbed two clean mugs from the cabinet.

"I’ve got it," Cas said.

Charlie and Sam watched silently, neither willing to pick up their previous train of conversation now that one of the subjects was  _right there_  and both too interested in what was going on in the kitchen to talk. Cas either didn’t notice the silence or didn’t care.

He moved gracefully through the kitchen, getting out a clean pan and then eggs, milk, ham, cheese, and some leftover green pepper from the fajitas they’d had the night before. In minutes he had the first of two (if the number of plates he got out of the cabinet was anything to judge by) ham-cheese-and-pepper omelettes happily cooking on the stove. It was Dean’s quick breakfast of choice, when they had enough time to eat something other than cereal and access to a stove.

Sam caught a glimpse of it when Cas finally deemed it done and put it on a plate. It looked like something out of a cookbook, perfectly yellow and fluffy, and Sam suddenly felt self-conscious about the (somewhat soggy) scrambled eggs he’d whipped up earlier.

"Where’d you learn how to cook?" he asked, curious.

"The Food Network has been most informative," Cas said. He took a long sip from his coffee mug and began digging, one-handed, through the other cabinets. "Do we have a tray?"

"For..?" Charlie prompted knowingly, trying to keep a leash on her excitement. Cas looked over at them then, and Sam and Charlie tried to act nonchalant. Cas smiled and huffed a soft laugh.

"I’d like to bring Dean breakfast," he said. Charlie gave him an encouraging grin and Sam smiled widely.

"We don’t have any trays, but we’ve got a cutting board?" he offered. Cas nodded.

"Thank you."

It took maybe five more minutes for Cas to finish cooking the second omelette, set everything on one of their plastic cutting boards, and get two forks. He refilled his coffee, poured a generous measure into the second mug, and began carefully walking with the lot back to Dean’s room. He gave Sam and Charlie a polite nod as he passed them. The two watched until he disappeared around the corner.

They didn’t speak until they heard Dean’s door open and shut once more; then they exchanged looks. Charlie smiled mischievously. Sam felt  _relief_  and hoped that the tension in the bunker would be a little less overpowering from now on.

"So…" Charlie said, taking another sip from her coffee.

"So," Sam agreed, bringing a forkful of eggs to his mouth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cas carefully kicked Dean’s door shut behind him, doing his best to keep the makeshift tray in his hands level.

Dean was still curled up in his bed and snoring softly. The hunter was resting on his side, his arms wrapped around the pillow Cas had placed there when his absence had threatened to wake Dean.

Cas smiled. He walked over to the desk and set the tray down on top of it. As peaceful as the sight was, he wanted Dean to eat before the food got cold.

He moved to the bed and sat down. Dean stirred at the sudden shift in weight. Cas reached out and, being sure to keep his touch light lest he startle Dean, he laid his hand upon Dean’s shoulder. Instead of shaking the hunter, he caressed the skin that had once borne his mark and coaxed Dean to wakefulness.

"Dean," he said quietly. "I’ve made breakfast."

Dean’s eyes blinked open slowly. He yawned and shifted, rolling halfway onto his back so he could look up at Cas easier. He squinted, blinked again, and then his expression softened into a warm smile.

"Hey," he said. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Cas replied. He cupped Dean’s face and kissed his forehead. He would have pulled back and presented Dean with food, but Dean grabbed his hand and tugged him back in for another kiss. This time, on the lips. The kiss was close-mouthed and chaste, since Dean had just woken up and had yet to brush his teeth. It could wait.

"Did I hear something about breakfast?" Dean asked as he let Cas go. Dean pushed himself up so he could sit properly and rest his back against the headboard. The sheet slipped down over his bare chest to pool in his lap, a sight Cas eyed appreciatively for a moment before turning and grabbing the tray.

"You did," Cas replied, picking up Dean’s plate and turning to hand it - and a fork - to him. "I cooked."

"You… brought me breakfast in bed?" Dean asked, surprised. He accepted the plate and just stared at it for a moment as the steam gently rose.

"Was that wrong?" Cas asked calmly, taking his own plate and cutting into his meal. The soft scrape of metal against china seemed to bring Dean back to himself.

"Just unexpected," he said, turning and placing a gentle kiss at the corner of Cas’s mouth. "Thanks, Cas."

Cas smiled.

"Eat before it gets cold."

Dean nodded and dug in. The omlette seemed to melt on his tongue and he made a small noise of appreciation.

"This is delicious. Food Network finally paying off?" he asked, grinning. Cas nodded.

Within minutes, both plates were clean. Cas gave Dean his mug of coffee. Dean drank deeply, bitterness replacing the savory omlette, and he leaned in to give Cas another kiss. Cas’s mouth tasted like coffee and eggs and Cas, and if Dean could wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life, he’d be a very happy man.

"Thanks for breakfast," he said, resting his forehead against Cas’s.

"My pleasure," Cas replied softly. He took Dean’s now-empty mug and plate and put them back on the tray, reluctantly pulling away from Dean to do so. Dean scooted closer, resting his chin on one of Cas’s shoulders and slinging an arm around his waist. He nuzzled Cas’s neck, too pleasantly full to be embarrassed about being so affectionate.

"Come back to bed," he said.

"I have to wash the dishes," Cas replied, though he tilted his head to allow Dean to nuzzle even closer. Dean did, humming contentedly.

"It can wait."

Cas hesitated a moment, but only a moment, then sighed and pushed the tray and the plates further onto the desk. He turned in Dean’s loose embrace and kissed him. Dean grinned against Cas’s lips and leisurely kissed back.

They lay down, Cas still in his borrowed robe and pajamas, and Dean still in the boxer shorts he’d worn to bed last night. Cas tucked his head beneath Dean’s chin and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean slid his hand over Cas’s hips and beneath his shirt, then stroked his hand up and down Cas’s back, content.

Neither man moved to turn the encounter sexual, though every so often Cas would lift his head for another kiss or Dean would duck his head for one.

"Tell anyone about this and I’ll deny it," Dean said, though any sting was taken out of his words by the lazy kiss he pressed to the top of Cas’s head. Cas chuckled.

"Your secret is safe with me," he said.

 


	54. Call

Cas stared at his phone uncertainly, his thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button.

Did he dare? After all his mistakes and everything he’d done, did he dare call Dean and ask for his help? Especially now, when he’d be more hunted and hated than ever before (surely his siblings would know whose Grace it was that cast them from Heaven?) and more powerless?

Could his risk his family like that?

Were they even still family, after he’d chosen to ignore Dean and follow Metatron?

His thumb hit the call button. For a moment, he almost panicked, wondering if he should just end the call now, before Dean had a chance to pick up, but he took a deep breath instead. He lifted the phone to his ear and listened to it ring.

It rang once. Twice.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

Three times

He shouldn’t burden the Winchesters like this. The best thing for them would be if he disappeared. Let them think him dead and mourn him, if they would. At least they’d be  _safe_.

Four rings.

Cas was about to hang up when he heard a click on the other line.

"Hello?"

Dean’s voice. Cas tightened his grip on his phone, his voice caught in his throat.

"Hello?" Dean was getting irritated now. He might hang up and Cas realized, with a sudden, selfish rush, that he didn’t want that.

"Dean," he said.

“ _Cas_.” Was that relief? To hear from him? Something in Castiel’s chest relaxed.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Metatron… tricked me," Cas said. The words seemed to trip on his tongue and stumble from his lips. Shame burned through him. "He used my Grace to cast the angels out of Heaven."

Dean was silent for a minute.

"Damn," he said, quietly but with feeling. "Look, we’ll figure this out. Where are you? Can you get to the bunker?"

"I don’t know," Cas said. He swallowed thickly, nerves beginning to constrict his breathing again. "This is my fault."

"… you should have listened to me, Cas. You should have trusted me." It wasn’t a confirmation of his guilt, but it certainly sounded like condemnation to Castiel’s ears. His hand tightened further on the phone, going white-knuckled.

"I’m sorry," he said again, voice and words hollow. He’d apologized for so many things, so many times, but the guilt hung heavy around his neck.

"It’s not your fault," Dean said, almost gently. There’s an underlying fury there, but for once, Cas could sense it wasn’t directed at him. "It’s Metatron’s and we’ll find a way to fix this. Together. That’s what family is for, all right?"

Cas nodded. Emotions lumped in his throat, but above all he felt  _gratitude_  and incredible relief that, after everything, Dean was still willing to call him  _family_.

"All right," he said. He heard Dean draw in a shuddering breath on the other side of the line.

"It’s good to have you back, buddy." Dean cleared his throat. "Call me as soon as you find out where you are. I’ll come get you."


	55. Laundromat

Dean stared, his mouth completely dry. He tried to swallow, to re-wet his lips, anything, but it didn’t help.

And Cas, damn him, seemed completely oblivious.

"This says ‘wash in cold water with like colors’," Cas said, frowning at the label on his shirt. The shirt that was very much  _not_  covering him at the moment. The shirt that was in his hands rather than on his body. That shirt.

"Yeah," Dean said, hoping he sounded interested rather than slightly dumbstruck. He’d known that Cas was strong, but he figured that had come from his Grace. The former angel’s many layers had disguised his broad shoulders and muscled arms and Dean  _could not stop staring_.

There was a freckle next to one of Cas’s nipples. Dean wanted to lean over and kiss it.

"And this says ‘dry clean only’," Cas said, holding up his pants. Like the shirt, they were not where they were supposed to be; that is to say, they were not covering Cas’s legs. His rather shapely legs, to say nothing about his ass-

How did he manage to make loose, plain cotton boxers appealing? They were just as shapeless as the trenchcoat had been, and yet all Dean could think about was how the waistband hugged Cas’s defined hipbones, how much he wanted to sink to his knees and mouth at the front of them until Cas was hard and bucking into his mouth and-

"Dean?"

Dean jerked his gaze up above Cas’s waist, hoping his face wasn’t noticeably red.

"Yeah?" he said. He coughed and waved at the washer. "Just toss everything in, set it on cold. Gentle cycle, or something. I’ll… I’ll be right back."

Dean turned and began walking rapidly away from Cas. He heard Cas call after him, probably with more questions, but he ignored it.

He needed a bathroom. Or air. Just for ten minutes.

The memory of Cas’s nearly-naked body flashed in front of his mind’s eye again.

Make that five minutes.


	56. Apple Pie

Cas waited, staring across the table as Dean carefully cut off the tip of his slice of pie. He watched with baited breath as Dean lifted it to his mouth and sampled it for the first time.

Apple had long been Dean’s favorite kind of pie. Cas had an inkling as to why that was, but he hadn’t asked. He’d simply made a vow to himself to not attempt apple until he was certain he could get it right.

Lots of flour, sugar, and several undercooked or overcooked pies later, and several more that had come out as intended, he’d finally felt confident enough to try it.

He’d tasted the syrup as it simmered. He’d taken one of the apple slices soaked in the stuff and eaten it to make sure the flavors complemented each other properly. He’d been careful of the oven temperature and brushed the top with milk and dusted it with cinnamon sugar as the recipe had dictated.

Still, he was uncertain about the finished product.

Dean chewed slowly, expression unreadable. At long last, he swallowed visibly. Cas felt his heart sink.

"No good?" he asked unhappily.

"It’s great," Dean said, voice thick with emotion. "Really, it’s fantastic."

Cas sighed.

"You don’t need to lie to make me feel better, Dean," he said, reaching out to take the plate away. If it wasn’t good, he wouldn’t force Dean to eat the rest.

Dean pulled the plate closer to himself immediately, protective. He looked down.

"Takes me back to when I was a kid," he explained. "It tastes just like the pies Mom used to make."

Cas sat back in his chair.

It was possible, though unlikely, that Dean remembered the exact taste of his mother’s homemade apple pies. He’d been so young when he’d lost her, and he had over seventy years worth of memories (forty of those spent tasting nothing but blood and ash) the cloud the recollections of his childhood.

But perhaps the taste of the dessert itself wasn’t as important as what it represented.

Home. Family. Love.

"I think I understand," Cas said.


	57. T-Shirt

"Cas."

Cas curled deeper into his blankets, stubbornly clinging to sleep and to his dreams. The dreams were so restful, so calming… a warm, familiar body, strong arms, green eyes. It was only a dream, but it was better than nothing. Mornings were the worst and the voice (familiar but still intrusive) was  _not welcome_.

"Cas." Hint of exasperation now. Cas felt a hand touch his shoulder and shake him. He growled a little and burrowed deeper into his pillow.

The voice chuckled.

"Come on, wake up."

"No," Cas groaned, though he knew the battle had already been lost. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, scowling, then pushed himself up. As he did, the blanket fell from his shoulder and pooled in his lap.

Dean - because of course Dean was always the one to enter Cas’s rooms and wake him up at unacceptable hours of the morning - stared at the shirt Cas had slept in, mouth slightly open.  
  
"What?" Cas asked snappishly.

"Cas… is that my shirt?" Dean asked, gesturing at the worn ACDC Tshirt Cas had on. Cas opened his mouth, closed it, and looked down at the Tshirt as though he’d never seen it before.

It had been his turn to do laundry yesterday. He hadn’t really meant to steal Dean’s clothes, but it had been so nice and soft and warm right out of the dryer, and Cas had wanted to allow himself just this small indulgence…

He hadn’t expected to get caught wearing it. He’d intended to wash it and return it to Dean next laundry day, with Dean none the wiser, but that plan was shot now.

"My apologies," he said. He lifted the hem of the shirt, intending to take it off, but Dean’s voice stopped him.

"No!" Dean said. Cas looked up, confused. Dean was still staring at his chest, at the way the thin material stretched across Castiel’s broad shoulders. Dean licked his lips absently. "I mean… keep it."

Cas frowned.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Dean nodded.

"You look good in my shirt," he said. His face reddened slightly. "Coffee’s in the kitchen. Sam found us a hunt in Oklahoma, we’re gonna discuss the details over breakfast."

"All right-" Cas started to say, but Dean had already turned and left.


	58. Come Home

It had been three weeks since Dean had heard from Cas.

Three nerve-wrecking weeks. Dean had kept his phone charged, checked his messages often, and watched his brother slowly recover. Sam would be all right.

Sam would be  _just_ fine, so Dean felt only a little bit of guilt when he left the bunker under Kevin’s care and drove to Castiel’s last know location.

He’d tried to call Cas since, but no luck. He didn’t even get Cas’s voicemail, just an error message, and he tried not to assume the worst.

He’d find Cas, alive and in one piece.

~*~*~*~*~

In the end, it had taken him five days.

He’d finally tracked Cas to a small homeless camp in a dry riverbed beneath a bridge. A lot of the men and women living there eyed him suspiciously when he pulled up in the Impala but there was one man, curled up on himself next to one of the support pillars, that didn’t even look up.

He was wearing too-large cargo pants and had layered two hoodies on top of a collared shirt on top of a Tshirt. He looked so small without his coat. His hair was dirty and oily, and his five o’clock shadow was now approaching beard status.

Still, Dean wouldn’t have mistaken him for anyone else.

He walked over to Cas and stood in front of him. Cas looked up, eyes wide with surprise when he saw who it was.

His eyes were not the eyes of the Cas he remembered. They were darker, somehow, more tired at the corners, and Dean’s heart clenched.

"You haven’t been answering your calls," Dean said, throat half-closed over by a sudden surge of emotion.

"My phone was destroyed," Cas said. He swallowed thickly. "Dean… I’m sor-"

"Later, ok?" Dean said. He took a deep breath and offered Cas his hand. "Let’s go home."

Cas reached for him, his arms shaking from the effort, and Dean felt a sharp pang of sorrow. What had Cas gone through since becoming human? Had he been eating enough? Drinking enough water? Sleeping enough?

Dean gripped Castiel’s hand tight and pulled him up into a hug. Cas was far too light, Dean noticed, and he wondered if he’d be able to count the former angel’s ribs were it not for all the layers he had on.

For a moment, Cas was tense in his hold. Then, Cas tentatively raised his arms and hugged Dean back. Dean squeezed gently,

"Good to have you back, man," he said, quietly but with feeling.

"I wasn’t certain I’d see you again," Cas said softly, as though ashamed. "After everything I’ve done…"

Dean pulled back. He caught Cas’s eyes with his, staring hard at the former angel to make sure he was listening.

"We all fuck up, but that’s what family’s for. They forgive you," Dean said. Cas still didn’t look convinced.

"Dean-"

Dean leaned in and kissed him. Cas let out a startled gasp of air, but before he could do anything else, Dean pulled back.

"Come home," he said. Cas stared at Dean in wonder and hope. The light was finally back in his eyes.

"Yes."


	59. Granddad

"More tea, Granddad?" Sarah asked, holding up the plastic teapot hopefully.

"Please," Cas said, extending his tiny, bright pink teacup towards her. She enthusiastically poured more of the imaginary liquid into the cup, her plastic tiara nearly falling out of her fine brown hair in her excitement.

"There," she said proudly. Cas brought the teacup up to his lips and pretended to sip it.

"Thank you. It’s very good," he said. Sarah beamed.

A chuckle from the doorway interrupted their tea party. Cas turned to see Dean leaning against the doorframe, green eyes filled with mirth as he took in the sight of Cas with his own sparkly tiara in his greying hair and a pink feather boa wrapped around his neck. Dean’s hair was going grey in patches as well, and his face was lined from laughter and worry, but to Cas he was still as beautiful as he had been the day they’d said their vows.

"How’s the party?" Dean asked, looking at the small table. Besides Cas, there were three stuffed animals as ‘guests’; a teddy bear with wings Sarah had named Blossom, a polar bear she called Mr. Paws, and a rabbit with patches of fur missing she had named Bunny when she got it three years ago. The five of them - Cas, Sarah, and stuffed animals - all had their own miniature pink plate and plastic teacup.

"Grandpa!" Sarah said delightedly, springing up from her chair and running over to give him a hug. Dean ruffled her hair and gave her a squeeze.

Cas smiled and got up as well, wincing when his bones creaked. He’d been sitting cross-legged too long. He walked towards his husband and gave him a gentle kiss. Dean kissed back, smiling against Cas’s lips, and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"I’m thinking this party could use a little pie," Dean said, looking back down at Sarah. She grinned so widely Cas suspected it hurt her cheeks and started to bounce up and down with excitement.

"Did you make pie?" she asked. "Is it apple? Oooh, or blueberry? Or strawberry?"

Dean chuckled again and patted her head.

"Why don’t you go to the kitchen and find out?" he said. Sarah squealed and darted around her grandfathers’ legs, her tiny shoes clapping loudly on the stone floor of the bunker.

"Don’t touch it, it’s still hot!" Dean hollered after her, getting a shouted ‘ok!’ in response. He shook his head fondly and looked at Cas. "Kids…" He looked up at the crown in Cas’s hair. "Nice tiara."

"I seem to recall seeing you similarly dressed when you played ‘Pretty Pretty Princess’ with Mary," Cas replied evenly.

"Hey, I won that round!" Dean said, but the deep kiss he gave Cas took any sting out of the playful banter. Cas broke away first.

"We should make sure Sarah isn’t getting into the pie," he said. Dean nodded, understanding but reluctant.

Dean took Castiel’s hand and they walked towards the kitchen together.


	60. Park

The park was peaceful this time of night. It wasn’t dark, lit as it was by the full moon and numerous streetlamps, but few people bothered to walk along the winding path around the lake after sunset.

Cas didn’t mind. Dean was more open with his affection when there was no one around to see. Cas rather preferred it that way; he loved the moments of tenderness, the kindness at Dean’s heart that few people were ever allowed to glimpse.

Dean squeezed his hand, as though sensing Cas’s thoughts. Cas smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. Dean met him halfway. Dean used his free hand to cup Cas’s face, the kiss just this side of chaste and possessive, yet reverent.

Cas understood. Sometimes, he found himself staring at Dean from his side of their bed and wondering how he’d been lucky enough to end up  _here_ , of all places. After everything he had done, how had he been so fortunate as to find a home with the family he’d chosen and build a life with the man he loved?

Even in Heaven, he’d never felt such a sense of  _belonging_. Here, he was no pawn. Here, he was valued for who he was and not just what he could do. He was no one’s attack dog on a short leash; he was not owned. He simply  _was_ , and what he was was enough.

"Thinking deep thoughts?" Dean asked him, smiling slightly. Cas smiled back.

"No," he said. He kissed Dean again.


	61. Two Weeks

Cas’s feet ached. They ached and they throbbed and he was cold and tired and hungry.

His first two weeks as a human had been… less than pleasant. As an angel, he’d never felt the cold. He’d had his Grace to warm him and his wings to shelter him from the wind. As a member of the Host, he’d never needed to rest. He’d been a tireless warrior, perfectly designed to take down evil that never slept. As a creature of faith, he’d needed no drink nor food. He’d subsisted on the air and belief of his Father’s Creation.

As a human, he needed all three, and in greater quantites than he’d imagined. A single hamburger and a handful of fries would do for a meal, but not for a day. Four hours of rest in-between hours of walking was insufficient. Two paper-thin shirts, a sweatshirt, and a delicate windbreaker would not protect him from the oncoming chill of winter.

But at long last, he was home. On the phone, he’d insisted that he could make it to the bunker under his own power. He couldn’t have brought himself to add to Dean’s burdens, not just then.

He wasn’t altogether certain he could bring himself to add to them now, either.

Like this, he was useless. He had no power, no healing ability, and nothing but a history of betrayal to offer to Dean. Could he really bring himself to knock on the door to the bunker and ask to be let in?

He needed to atone. He  _needed_  to help those in need, even or perhaps especially at the cost of his own existence. He could help others if he stayed with the Winchesters and threw himself into hunting. He knew he could.

But how could he consider such glorious proximity with Dean as punishment?

How could he allow himself the selfishness of his fondest, deepest dream when he was supposed to be performing penance?

How could he even be sure that Dean would welcome him back?

Castiel hesitated outside the door to the bunker. In the two weeks he’d spent walking to Kansas, he hadn’t let himself think about whether or not Dean would accept him. It would be well within Dean’s rights to turn him away, and no more than Castiel deserved; not only had he disregarded Dean’s wishes and gone with Metatron, he’d allowed himself to be tricked and caused the Fall. Every former angel would be hunting him and his Grace was gone completely.

He should turn and walk away. He should distance himself from the Winchesters, to punish himself as well as keep them safe, but he couldn’t. The one time he’d called Dean, before his phone had been destroyed when Hael had crashed her car, Dean had asked him to come to Lebanon.

He’d told Cas to “come home”.

Cas couldn’t refuse him now.

He lifted his hand and rang the doorbell. He waited for what felt like a short eternity and then the door opened.

Dean was on the other side, beautiful green eyes wide as he stared at Cas in shock. Cas swallowed his nerves and spoke.

"Hello, Dean," he said.

Dean splashed some water from a flask at him. Cas blinked, startled, but when the holy water didn’t burn him, Dean grabbed him by the front of his stolen clothes and yanked. Cas had no time to react before he found himself crushed against the hunter’s chest, Dean’s arms tight around him.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Dean said, voice low but firm. "Would it have killed you to pick up your damn phone?"

  
"It was destroyed shortly after we spoke," Cas said. He tentatively rasied his arms to embrace Dean. Dean didn’t pull away.

For the first time in two weeks, Cas felt something like hope stir in his chest.


	62. Sunset

Cas stared at the sunset, watching as the glorious pinks and oranges faded to deep purples and blues as the sun disappeared over the horizon. Next to him, Dean took another sip of his beer.

"Sometimes, it’s nice just to take a break. Relax," Dean said, his eyes also fixed on the setting sun. Cas nodded, his gaze straying from the view to take in Dean’s profile. Without his Grace, he could see no more than the outermost layer of Dean. Cas could no longer see his brilliant soul, though sometimes he thought he caught glimpses of it in Dean’s eyes.

He stared as Dean drained the rest of his beer, mesmerized by the way the dying light played off of Dean’s face. Dean let his arm and the bottle he was holding fall to his side.

"Dean…" Cas said slowly. Dean looked up, silently prompting Cas to continue. "Thank you for finding me."

In the month since Cas had Fallen, he’d been drifting from homeless camp to homeless camp, unwilling to allow himself the luxury of a proper shelter when there were others with less blood on their hands who were in need. He hadn’t hoped to see the Winchesters again, but that morning, Dean and Sam had pulled up in the Impala and brought him home.

And now, with Sam back at the bunker, it was just Dean and Cas, watching the sunset and drinking beer on top of a cliff, with no one around to see or to judge. It made Cas hope for things he hadn’t let himself think about in so long.

"No problem, Cas," Dean said gruffly, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "That’s what family’s for, isn’t it?"

Cas smiled. It was his first true smile in what felt like years.

They fell into a companionable silence as the sun continued to set. How long had it been since the last time their silences had been filled with calm warmth instead of fraught with tension? Too long.

Something about the atmosphere of the secluded spot made Cas feel bold. He’d always hesitated to let Dean know of his feelings for the hunter, feelings that went well beyond friendship, but he was human now. Time no longer stretched out to infinity in front of him and he could no longer take on all of Heaven and Hell to keep Dean by his side. Humanity was frail and their lifespans were too short for Cas to waste any of his time on worrying and keeping silent.

He took a deep breath.

"Dean…" he said, hoping Dean would look up once more. Dean did, and Cas leaned in. He pressed his lips gently to Dean’s, a declaration, nothing more, and then pulled back.

Dean grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in again.


	63. Baking Apple Pie

Cas certainly hadn’t anticipated  _this_  when he decided to make an apple pie.

The preparation itself was no trouble. Blending the shortening and flour into a crust had been a cinch. Crafting the syrup to pour over the apples was simple.

Testing the filling was trying Cas’s willpower.

Dean had volunteered to taste-test everything Cas produced in the kitchen. Cas didn’t mind, and if he took guilty pleasure in every one of Dean’s quiet moans or satisfied finger licks, that was a secrect between himself and his right hand.

Dean’s groans of pleasure were almost pornographic as he dipped his fingers back into the bowl of sliced apples in sugar-syrup to seize another slice of fruit. Cas could only watch, dumbfounded, as Dean slid the whole slice into his mouth before chewing. Dean sucked on his fingers one at a time, licking them from base to tip to catch all the drippings. He even licked over his palm with a greedy noise, intent on catching every last drop.

"Christ, Cas, this is amazing," Dean said, reaching back into the bowl for a third slice. Cas seized Dean’s wrist without thinking. Dean paused, fingertips submerged in sugar, and stared at Cas quizzically.

"Cas?" Dean prompted when Cas didn’t let him go.

Slowly, hardly able to believe his own daring, Cas lifted Dean’s hand out of the bowl and brought Dean’s fingers to his mouth. He sucked the tip of Dean’s index fingers between his lips, laving the top with his tongue. Dean’s breathing shuddered. Cas didn’t look up. He licked Dean’s middle finger, tracing it from palm to print with the tip of his tongue and then sucking on it to get at the syrup.

Dean didn’t breathe. Cas continued on with Dean’s ring finger, and then finally, his thumb. Cas sucked the whole of Dean’s thumb into his mouth and then slowly drew off. Finally, he met Dean’s gaze.

Dean’s pupils were dilated with want, his mouth slack and breathing shallow. Cas knew he probably painted a similar picture of desire. He swallowed heavily.

"It’s good," he said, meaning the pie. Dean blinked, then nodded, and gently extricated his hand from Castiel’s grip. Dean groped blindly for the bowl of filling, not taking his eyes off of Cas, and brought another slice of apple out of the bowl.

"It tastes better on the apples," Dean said, voice husky. He offered it to Cas and Cas leaned forward, this time maintaining eye contact with Dean as he slowly ate the apple slice from Dean’s hand. He licked and sucked at Dean’s fingers after, ostensibly to get all traces of the syrup.

Dean was right. The syrup was much better when eaten with a slice of apple.

But nothing compared to the taste of pie filling on Dean’s tongue.


End file.
